Mother of Griffons
by etaeternum
Summary: A fairytale ending tainted by infertility and an affair: the jaded Queen of Ferelden returns to her role as Warden Commander, fleeing her husband's side out of shame. Her search for a cure to the sickness in her blood brings her to Skyhold to aid in battle.
1. Chapter 1: The Calling

Shades of green spread around her, reaching up the stone walls of the Skyhold Garden. The earthy scent of elfroot was so pungent it tickled Caoilainn's nose. She admired the garden's beauty, emanating healing and tranquility, a refuge from the effects of war and doom- the things her life revolved around; the serenity felt foreign.

Her purpose for traveling to the garden stood in a corner of the sanctuary. Quiet steps kept Caoilainn hidden, but she spoke to the person she came to see as she neared. "It's good to see you made it out of the Eluvian." The words were blunt.

The last time Caoilainn communicated with Morrigan occurred at the entrance to the ancient Elven mirror, shortly before the sorceress vanished through it to some parallel realm.

Before Morrigan could answer, Caoilainn's blood stirred. A warning of danger, similar to the signs her body communicated to her mind when darkspawn neared. Critical eyes darted from Morrigan to find the source of the disruption, landing on the young boy near Morrigan. He stood quiet, respectful of his mother. More importantly, he showed no signs of darkspawn or ghoulish influence. _The dark ritual._ She realized the parentage of the boy in a matter of seconds.

Morrigan's eyes widened, but she remained silent at Caoilainn's announcement. Caoilainn noticed the witch's hand tighten on the shoulder of her son.

"You found me… or us." Morrigan smiled. The statement suggested they had been playing a ten-year game of hide-and-seek. In a sense, it was true.

Hardened, frowning, Caoilainn exhaled. Despite her efforts of composure, Caoilainn's desperation underlined the intense moment. "Morrigan, can we talk?" The question sounded more like a plea.

Morrigan sighed, eyebrows lifted in sympathy. She gave a loving call to her son and directed him to go play elsewhere. The witch's hand gestured to a nearby bench resting under a tree and she wordlessly walked to it and sat.

The meandering songs of birds singing echoed in the awkward silence as Caoilainn stared at her friend. _She's a gentle mother._ Caoilainn awed at the difference of this woman from the cynical witch Caoilainn had fought alongside during the Blight until she realized Morrigan's gaze transitioned from patience to irritation and moved to the spot on the bench beside her. Registering the order, Caoilainn joined her.

"Go on then," Morrigan replied, brow arched, frowning. Her eyes traveled from Caoilainn to watch her son as she waited. Caoilainn noticed the faintest smirk on Morrigan's lips.

Grateful for the privacy given by the foliage, Caoilainn considered the curious sight of their conversation: the Witch of the Wilds and the Queen of Ferelden talking on a bench in a quiet corner of the Skyhold Garden. She amused herself with the thought and attempted small talk.

"You disappeared for a long time. I heard you ended up in Orlais," Caoilainn noted. Prying statements hinted passing desires to gather information about Morrigan's adventures since their last interaction.

Morrigan's expression remained unchanged, a hum of agreement her only response to Caoilainn's insignificant statements.

Caoilainn shook her head and reminded herself of the intent for her visit. The cold reality of Morrigan's ability to walk away at any time struck Caoilainn. She hurried her words before she lost the opportunity. "I need your help, Morrigan. I want to be free from the Wardens."

The statement stung, even herself, and Caoilainn regretted her choice of words. It lacked truth, the depth of her need to free herself from the taint. She realized the change in the power between them, Morrigan in control of their discussion as Caoilainn sought her help. She had voluntarily stripped herself of her bravado as a hardened military leader

Morrigan's brows furrowed and she snorted, holding back a laugh. Caoilainn furrowed her brows, confused at the woman's humor at the serious subject.

"Do tell, my friend. How might I be of assistance to one such as your majesty with such matters?" Morrigan smirked, leaning on the bench with her arm propped on the back. Skepticism coated every word of her statement.

Irritated, Caoilainn ignored the association with her title as majesty. "I need this sickness to go away, Morrigan. The Calling. I can feel and hear the darkspawn in my blood. Always. The Old Gods are in the distance. The Deep Roads are waiting for me."

 _I sound like a mad-woman._ Caoilainn knew the explanation of the Calling sounded preposterous to any layman. She assured herself if any non-Warden person could understand, it was Morrigan.

Morrigan's eyes widened at the mention of Old Gods but she did not respond. Uncomfortable with the silence, Caoilainn continued, words spilling from her mouth.

"I can't do this. I can't be his queen and not give him a son. I regret taking the crown every day. I should have given him to Anora. They may have been able to have a child." The words of regret and remorse omitted the resentment Caoilainn held toward her husband. Years of distance left their failed marriage at a standstill, and even through her own self-righteousness, she felt guilt. "Morrigan, the Theirin bloodline dies with Alistair." Shocked by the sound of his name coming from her mouth, Caoilainn's tangent stopped.

Even with her dramatic confession, Morrigan remained neutral. Caoilainn gave a defeated sigh and her eyes studied the vines crawling along the wall beside them. She knew her friend to be apathetic to bloodlines and status and had little concern for the personal affairs of kings. But Morrigan had to understand the desire to have a child. In the short time Caoilainn had observed Morrigan with her son, she witnessed what could only be love. _Her son is Alistair's._ The fact seemed so distant until now.

Morrigan placed her hand on Caoilainn's, interrupting the silence with empathy. With a soft tone, she said, "You know Alistair would have been miserable if he married Anora. Because he loves you."

Unable to resist rolling her eyes, Caoilainn brought her gaze back to Morrigan. The woman's words did little to solve Caoilainn's problems and did not provide solace.

Morrigan shrugged. Their friendship had rarely been about comforting one another. They were both strong women and both knew it. Morrigan's soft tone hardened. "Your King technically has an heir, you know. Kieran," her eyes wandered to her son, who was closely observing some bright embrium flowers a few paces away, "is doing quite well."

"I know." Caoilainn's eyes widened. "I've heard of Wardens freed from the taint and I have an idea. Morrigan, can he… Do you think he could be a source to stop the Calling?"

Morrigan's reservation faltered for the briefest moment. Her face contorted, forehead wrinkling; she sneered. Caoilainn feared her friend might reject the proposition without another thought. But the expression quickly faded and Morrigan thought.

Long, endless moments occupied the time as Morrigan considered the request, her expression unfathomable.

"Perhaps," Morrigan muttered.

The curt reply, only a single word filled Caoilainn with hope.

Morrigan continued, "I can make no promises. 'Tis a lofty goal, but I will research it."

Caoilainn's short-sighted goals considered little of risks to Kieran or herself. Her fantasies of motherhood became palpable. A quest she had pursued since the moment she ended the blight, Caoilainn had the chance to remedy her failures as queen and wife.

Morrigan's frown deepened. She added, "This can only occur if there is no risk to my son, Caoilainn. If there is any potential of harm to Kieran, the research will cease immediately."

Hopeful and curious at the potential for results, eyes alight with positivity; Caoilainn could only nod.


	2. Chapter 2: The Grey Wardens

Determination brought her to Skyhold. Determination combined with the convenient opportunity to seek help on some exceedingly personal matters without leaving her duty to the Wardens. The Mother of Griffons would not abandon her post for anything, including her obligation as the Queen of Ferelden. In this case, she brought her post to her. Commanding suited her, hence return to Vigil's Keep after a few years in the Ferelden's courts.

Now someone at Skyhold could help her; the only person the Warden Commander considered an honest friend. Word had spread Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, contributed her skills to the Inquisition's mission. Certain Morrigan had answers to her questions, Caoilainn Cousland followed suit.

That is not to say that her joining the Inquisition's movement was completely self-interested. Her pledges to the Wardens to fight darkspawn at all odds were awakened when she learned of return of Corypheus. News of dreaded 'Conductor' became the catalyst for the letter she wrote, offering military assistance to Inquisitor Lavellan. She bought her way into the Inquisition with the promise of military force.

Caoilainn offered soldiers from Highever, the Grey Wardens and even Ferelden's capital. With nothing more than her own tenacity- skilled use of her connections- gained the strength to her name. Caoilainn's reputation as commander preceded her- having stepped into and excelled in her role as Warden Commander at the end of the Blight. It required her to rebuild the nearly extinct chapter of Grey Wardens in Ferelden. The order now intact, she promised a sizable troop of well-trained Wardens to the Inquisition's aid. As the sister of the Teyrn of Highever, she had negotiated borrowing a small troop of soldiers from Fergus with no resistance. The final group, a large donation from the Ferelden Army, had been obtained with a great risk and some cutting corners of the "standard protocol." Caoilainn finagled a large number of the Ferelden Royal Army to serve the Inquisition. The tactic occurred without permission from the King, timed with precision and care when Alistair would be on his way to a summit meeting in Kirkwall.

Caoilainn had been expertly avoiding Alistair since she returned to commanding full-time, five years ago. Offering the Ferelden troops wagered her successful evasion of her husband. But it was a bet she was willing to take to guarantee her position within the walls of Skyhold. The Inquisition accepted her offer of all troops and she siezed the opportunity and traveled to Skyhold in advance of the soldiers. Orders given to her Lieutenants scheduled the other Wardens arriving at Skyhold a few days after herself, joined by the Highever men. The Ferelden Army would arrive at least a few days after, if all went according to plan. And Caoilainn's strength in strategizing promised successful execution of plans.

Filled with newfound hope after speaking with Morrigan, Caoilainn attempted to familiarize herself with Skyhold while she waited for her troops to arrive, studying the fortress' structure and integrity. The architecture, though worn and beaten by age and elements, remained well secured. It would provide an advantageous defense, if need be, based on her evaluation: the dungeons nearly intact, walls thick, and battlements strong. The battlements had become a familiar location for Caoilainn as she continued to find herself on them, looking out toward the east. Constant anticipation for the sight of her oncoming troops made her heart beat faster.

The Grey Wardens had become her children, her family, her home and though they were all but skilled wayfarers, they were an order. Her order. When she became a Grey Warden over 10 years ago, she found purpose in her life she had not imagined possible. Nothing more than the noble daughter of the former Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever, she dreaded the day she would be married off for some strategic union of power. And so, vindictively, she rebelled as a child. Taking up arms in spite of her mother's disapproval; devotedly adoring her father's strength and resolve. But, she never thought her life would be anything more than nobility.

Then it all ended. What seemed another busy day in Castle Cousland, turned into a horrific nightmare with Rendon Howe's visit. Howe knew their numbers were limited. Many of their soldiers had gone with Caoilainn's brother, Fergus, to scout before the battle at Ostagar and those remaining were unprepared for an ambush from within. Last moments with her mother and father dying in front of her, urging her to leave with Duncan still replayed in her mind. After all of the horrific things she had seen during the Blight and even since then, the sight of her father soaked in his own blood would never fade from her memory. Becoming a Warden allowed her to right those wrongs: the guilt she felt for leaving, the loss of her family, and most of all, the corruption led by Howe.

Duncan, former Warden Commander, the man to whom she owed her life and the future she now had, died at Ostagar. Though she barely knew him, her gratitude was endless. To think had she known when she fled with Duncan that in a year's time, she would fulfill his responsibilities and excel in the role of Warden Commander. The girl from Castle Cousland was a stranger to Caoilainn now.

* * *

She pondered her goals for the day as she peered hopefully from the Skyhold battlements. To meet the Inquisition's Commander- again; another thing on Caoilainn's checklist while she waited. She remembered Commander Rutherford as Cullen from Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad's Circle of Magi; insensitive, overly-obedient, likely loaded up on lyrium. Caoilainn disliked him then and from what she heard about his adventures as Knight-Captain in Kirkwall, he had done little to change his close-minded ways, dutifully serving Commander Meredith to a fault. His promotion to Knight Commander in spite of that tragedy was another indication of the Chantry's need for reform. Despite her opinions, working with him now would be necessary. He retired from his role to assist the Inquisition, a diverse group to say the least. Something must have changed within him since he was now serving a Dalish apostate, the Inquisitor.

On her fifth day in Skyhold, as she conducted one of her morning surveys of the battlements, she found her way into an office near the gate entrance of the fortress. The office was empty; the desk littered with papers and maps. A lone candle burned on a corner. She looked around for any evidence of its usual inhabitant to find no one. In the loft above the office, Caoilainn spied an empty, unmade bed. Someone was there a lot and she deemed it peculiar they were not there now.

Her eyes darted back to the desk, tempted to sift through the papers for information, but before she could take any steps, the door from the battlements opened. A blonde man walked in, taking long strides due to his height. He was carrying sheets covered in symbols, sifting through them while he walked. He was followed by a younger, shorter messenger who had to walk quickly to keep up. The messenger was carrying an even larger stack of papers; he also had a number of scrolls rolled and tucked underneath his arm.

Caoilainn stood straighter; her hands grasped behind her back, keeping distance between herself and the desk so no assumptions could be made of her actions alone in the Commander's office. Without realizing she was there, Cullen sat down at his desk and the messenger placed the items in front of him. Cullen gave an order for the other man to leave, still oblivious to Caoilainn's presence in the room. The messenger bowed to Caoilainn, with a polite 'milady' as acknowledgment before departing.

Commander Rutherford's brows furrowed with annoyance and one lifted in question as a reaction. Then he realized a stunning woman in a blue and silver tabard stood within his office. Tall and beautiful despite her rigidity, her long, blonde hair captured loosely in a braid along the side of her head. Caoilainn expressed nothing short of professional irritation. Cullen's hand instantly found its way to the back of his neck.

"Oh… uh… I didn't see you there," he sputtered awkwardly. The sentence trailed off and his cheeks turned a barely visible shade of pink. Caoilainn stared back expectantly, close to certain he did not recognize her from their previous meeting, though certain he should. "Wait. Who are you and why are you here?" Commander Rutherford asked with minor suspicion recognizing the circumstances of her having already been in his office.

Caoilainn nodded as his questions answered her own regarding his recognition of her. She replied coolly, "Warden Commander Caoilainn Cousland-Theirin."

Cullen's eyes widened and he stood from the desk, pieces of information clicking into place. The relation of the name to face and what events from his history they tied came together. His face turned bright red as he recalled the incident at the Circle Tower. With every effort to keep his cool, he greeted her. "Oh! Warden Commander. Please forgive me. Welcome. My, it has been quite a long time."

Caoilainn gave a tight smile, an obvious disinterest in small talk. Unamused with his display thus far, she offered a cold reply. "It has been a long time, Cullen... Commander. I would not have expected you to leave the Chantry for the Inquisition."

Cullen's face burned brighter. As she intended, her statement quickly revealed that Caoilainn remembered him as the dedicated Chantry-boy from so many years ago. She assessed him standing there; he seemed to have grown since the Blight. Though far more attractive, his appearance did not reconcile his current lack of tact. Annoyed with his bashfulness, she did not wait for his response. "I am bringing some of my men and women from Vigil's Keep. They should be here today. I will need you to notify me immediately when they arrive, Commander."

As if the order to Cullen had been a cue, she felt the tingling of the Taint in her blood. Her Wardens were near.

Cullen reflected as she spoke to him. Although his memories were faded from extended use of lyrium, Cullen recalled the young woman who had set foot into the Circle that day. She was young, fair but determined and tenacious, even rebellious in Cullen's eyes. Caoilainn had embarrassed him by saving the Circle when he had deemed all were lost. Now this striking woman stood before him: powerful, strong, and hardened. Any naivety in the girl from ages ago was gone. This woman was calculated and downright intimidating. His attention focused with her order. "Of course, Warden Commander Cousland. You will be the first to know once I do." He realized as he said this that she had no authority to give him orders, but he held to his agreement as a level of courtesy.

Caoilainn nodded and turned to leave his office, but a passing thought entered Cullen's mind. Before he could consider if the question was appropriate, the words fell from his mouth. "Will the King make an appearance with the Ferelden forces?"

Caoilainn turned and gave a blank stare, momentarily stunned by the question. _Obviously Cullen, the Inquisition's Commander, would know Ferelden troops are on the way. Apparently, he made the connection of your last name to the throne. Of course he did,_ she scolded herself internally. Just because she often forgot did not mean anyone else would. Her reply was professional and direct, like she was talking to one of her new recruits. "Good question. The King, unfortunately, is preoccupied with royal business." Caoilainn made what might have been an attempt at a pout, as if she were truly unhappy that Alistair had not been able to join, but there was no emotion in it. "Sadly, he will not be able to join us. Please make sure the Inquisitor is notified upon the Ferelden troops' arrival." Her direction to notify Alanna of the arrival of the Ferelden soldiers suggested preference of distance from them.

Cullen noticed this with curiosity but before he could process, the door to his office swung open. His messenger, Jim, returned breathless. "Commander, there are two large troops nearing Skyhold. One is under the banner of the griffon, sir. The other is under the laurel."

Caoilainn smiled proudly. "Ah yes, and some of my brother's men from Highever will be aiding, as well. Well, thank you for your time Commander but it seems there will no longer be a need to notify me." Lacking any hesitation, Caoilainn left Cullen's office and walked briskly to the stables to find her horse.

Locating her gelding, she mounted and rode out from the Skyhold gates to greet her men and women and welcome the Highever soldiers. The Highever men marched with rigidity, postured well on horseback. Their form on their horses matched her own. The formal style of riding was something that had not faded over time. A few large wagons with supplies and weapons were in the centers of both troops. Caoilainn saluted the Grey Wardens and the Highever troop and confidently led them on the march back to Skyhold.

When they neared the gate she slowed her horse and signaled for the Highever soldiers to continue to Skyhold. She wanted to speak with her Wardens before they submerged themselves in the Inquisition's affairs. The rest of the Wardens came to a stop behind her. Caoilainn halted her horse and gracefully dismounted. Turning to face the Wardens, the pride she felt as she watched them was immeasurable.

Most of the Grey Wardens were on foot. Clear they were a unit, each person wore some variation of the blue and silver striped tabard, just like Caoilainn's. She could not be differentiated from the group once she joined with them. Not in any particular formation, the Wardens didn't march in unison. The diverse group ranged from humans to elves, and fewer qunari and dwarves. Mostly rogues and warriors, though about a half a dozen mages were strewn throughout the group.

When they were done shifting and settling to a halt, Caoilainn smiled and called to them, her voice clear even to the furthest members. "Brethren! We are here to join in a battle against evil. It is that simple. You will be under the orders of myself and the Inquisition. From this point forward, we are the Inquisition. But this does not supersede our unity as Grey Wardens. We may not march in formation; our uniforms may not be identical and our weapons do not match, but we share blood! We breathe together."

Caoilainn stopped to catch a breath and to allow her words to resonate. More importantly, she took a moment to calm her own rising emotions. Her love for this odd band of soldiers was overwhelming. After a few breaths, she continued. "You have all been selected to join me here because Ferelden… no- Thedas, needs you more than ever. I have taught you to unify your senses in combat. We become one animal, the griffon. Remember this! I have and will always trust you with my life, Wardens."

She paused to breathe again before saluting her troops with a fist to her chest. She bowed her head for a long second, honoring the order and those fallen in servitude. Then she called out the oath each of them heard at their Joining. "Remember our oath! Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you."

With another deep breath, she called out their motto. "In war!"  
The Grey Wardens replied in unison, "Victory!"  
"In peace!"she yelled.  
"Vigilance!" The Grey Wardens called back.  
"In death!"  
In a final cry, they all sang together, "Sacrifice!"

Joy. Pride. She beamed from within, though her face remained calm, strong in leadership. Caoilainn knew her love was felt by all of the Grey Wardens. This sentimental moment didn't last long before she motioned for them to continue walking toward Skyhold, allowing them to pass her and her horse. She stood with her hands at her hips, observing them as they marched on.

A low, gruff but familiar male voice from behind startled her from her reverie. "That was a beautiful speech, Commander of the Grey."

Caoilainn quickly turned to face the speaker. The man that stood before her, pale with dark circles under his eyes, his black, shoulder-length hair pulled back by two small braids. A simple heartwood longbow strapped to his back and a wicked smirk spread across his face.

A small smile crept its way through Caoilainn's professionalism as she bowed her head and replied. "Such kind words, Lieutenant Howe." She gave a smug frown, but mischief boiled in her undertones. "I wasn't expecting you to return from your mission in the Marches in time to join us. I will assume it was productive. I expect to receive your analysis on the mission later tonight." Caoilainn raised a seductive eyebrow before she turned to walk toward her horse. Nathaniel held its reins while she mounted, then returned to his own steed.

"I have yet to hear you complain about any of my reports, Caoilainn," Nathaniel's smart reply intended to provoke.

Her eyes squinted, mocking scolding. Nathaniel knew he wasn't to refer to her as anything but Commander when they were in uniform. "You'll pay for that," she said with a grin.


	3. Chapter 3: Howe

A complicated history, Nathaniel's familiarity with Caoilainn went back to his childhood. As a boy, he made frequent visits to Castle Cousland with his siblings. Often brought by their governess after their mother passed away, the Howe children made the most of these visits as reprieve from their home life.

Wartime friends, Rendon Howe, and Bryce and Eleanor Cousland brought their families together on a regular basis. Born only a year apart, the older boys, Fergus Cousland and Nathaniel Howe, grew up together. From infants to toddlers, and through their youth, they were practically brothers.

Encouraged to play as boys do, they fought with toy swords as soon as they could walk. Dueling in the yard of Castle Cousland, running through halls, they followed the models set for them by their fathers as heroes, fighters. The addition of their younger sisters only gave the boys more freedom to galavant through the castle.

Rebellious, stubborn, and spoiled, Caoilainn rarely complied with her mother's requests. A tomboy, Caoilainn admired her father and older brother, and preferred playing with toy weapons over dolls. She ignored Delilah, Nathaniel's younger sister, even though Delilah was just a few years older than Caoilainn. Caoilainn attempted to keep up with the older boys from a young age.

But Nathaniel and Fergus's friendship waned, parting ways when Nathaniel was sent off at age 20. The order to travel to the Free Marches, to be squired to his uncle, came from his father.

Abrasive and manipulative, Arl Rendon Howe offered his approval selectively but doled punishment with a heavy hand. 'Spare the rod, spoil the child.' Rendon justified severity and followed through with the exception of Thomas. The youngest of the Howe siblings, Thomas caused the death of Eliane in childbirth. Whether it was for this reason or another, Rendon's critical nature never found the youngest Howe.

But Nathaniel learned from his time in the Free Marches. Freedom provided a different understanding of people. Seen outside the scope of Rendon's profit-driven perspective, Nathaniel had a chance to learn about himself and his talent as an archer. His love for the Free Marches was interrupted by news of his father's death.

It lit a fire within him. Sparked by the ingrained need to gain Rendon's approval, never healed, leaving an infinite void. Discovering the girl he knew as a child was the murderer did not sway his pursuit for revenge. Her status as the slayer of the Archdemon, the Queen of Ferelden, or Commander of the Grey only riled fury. Memories of the bright-eyed girl who preferred playing in dirt to tea parties faded.

Nearing his 30th nameday, six months after the Blight passed, Nathaniel returned to Ferelden to find his family name spoiled by accusations against his father. Disinterested in any claim to the title of Arl, Nathaniel's infiltrated the Warden base. Vigil's Keep had been appropriated for the rebuilding of the Grey Warden order. But his plan to lay a trap and slaughter the Warden Commander changed upon viewing his childhood home. Nostalgia quelled thirst for revenge. Replaced with a desire to take back a few of his family's things. It led to a struggle with the Grey Wardens guards. With credit to Nathaniel's years of training in the Free Marches, it required five men to take him down. They locked him in the dungeon.

Then she arrived. Almost a decade younger than he, Caoilainn had assumed the responsibilities of Warden Commander with grace. She had also bloomed into an alluring young woman. Tall and lean, toned muscles accentuated by her armored body, covered in smooth leathers and chainmail. Ashen-blonde hair braided loosely along the side, secured in a knot that rested on her shoulder.  
Caoilainn ordered her guards to leave.

Though he mocked her, challenged her to kill him, words coated in contempt, she conscripted him; a few days later he survived his Joining.

Her unexpected mercy failed to incite compliance. Nathaniel completed her orders, but not without finding every reason to hate the woman. Hatred in spite of her obstinate justness, her dutiful intractability, and her obvious love for the Grey Wardens. She aided him in assembling pieces of his father's guilt, including the traitorous murder of her family, Rendon Howe's supposed friends. But rather than reconcile his anger, the information only instigated his rage.

 _Nathaniel marched to Caoilainn's office, the day after their return to the Keep._ Unnecessary risks. Problematic allies. Audacious decision making. _Prepared to berate her, he swung open the door to find Caoilainn seated at her desk. Stacks of papers littered the surface, and she stared at a map in the center. Her thumb between her teeth, she bit down._

 _Caoilainn's gaze lingered, her eyes traveling up from the map to meet Nathaniel's glare._

 _"Can I help you?" Her question coaxed him._

 _"What do you think you're doing?" Nathaniel snapped, deliberate steps taking him closer to her desk. His gruff interrogation continued. "Do you have any idea what kind of risk you put us in when you take us into the Deep Roads like that?"_

 _Caoilainn released an annoyed sigh and looked back to her map without answering._

 _"Answer me." He stared down at her from across her desk._

 _Searching eyes stared hard at the map. She responded without looking at him, "No."_

 _"Caoilainn," he growled, "I cannot support this mission if-"_

 _"Commander," her palms planted on either side of the map as her narrowed eyes traveled to Nathaniel's. "You will call me Commander."_

 _"Fine,_ Commander. _" Towering over, he placed his hands on her desk to mirror her own. "Did you conscript me because you thought I'd go along with every careless decision you make?"_

 _She pushed up from her seat, the legs of the chair screeching on the wood floor. Nostril flared, face reddening, her reactions belied her zealous confidence._ Finally, _he thought,_ I will break through her disregard.

 _But her words oozed venom. She hissed, "no, Nathaniel. I conscripted you because I mistook you for a Howe with a spine."_

 _Teeth clenched, his glare pierced hers. Energy swelled, both intimidated the other to back down. Seconds dragged, their chests heaved as they leaned over her desk. With a quick motion, Caoilainn's hand rushed to his chin, squeezing Nathaniel's face._

 _Disgust bled through her malevolent gaze, her lip curled. Then she pressed her lips to his. Rough, smashing, messy. He made a muffled growl. Their mouths assaulting the other, aggressive tongues fought for dominance._

 _Nathaniel's hand rose to her head; fingers reaching to weave through her loosened locks, but she smacked it with her free hand. He retracted, backing down, stimulated by her assertion. Instead, her fair, petite digits laced his black hair, pulling from the roots. Panting, mouths fell open to breathe. Foreheads pressed. Breath calmed, catching the moment, processing the lustful rage sparked between them. She bit his swollen lip, then shoved him away._

 _Breathless, they stared, frozen in the aftermath of this mistake, the mutual fall of their personal guards. But something shifted. He saw it in her eyes. Fire and hunger, all roaring welcome. In a fraction of a second, he broke their gaze and his hands swept the papers from her desk to the floor. An ink bottle fell with a thud. Papers floated to the ground. An act of blatant disrespect toward the order to her chaos, sure to incite her anger. Her eyes widened as she watched the results of his destruction. Twitching temporal muscles showed her clenching jaw._

 _A guttural roar sounded frustration and anger as she stepped onto her chair, then onto her desk. Boots clanked against the flat wooden surface and she hopped to stand next to him. Without a word, her flat palm found his face, smacking hard enough to make his head spin and leaving a red mark. Fuming, his hand found the heated aftermath of her palm to his cheek as his gaze swung back. But he was robbed of an opportunity to retort when her fingers curled over the upper lip of his breastplate, pulling him down to her eye level. A hand reached his tresses again, and her mouth crashed into his. An impatient tongue penetrated his lips, rushing him to engage. Nathaniel obliged._

 _He groaned, hands finding hips and permitted to stay. His fingers gripped her muscular curves, directing her closer to him. She complied, allowing him to touch her. Energy cycled through reciprocated contact. Heat building, boiling with lusty anger breaking through whatever inhibitions remained. Caoilainn's digits traveled to his belt, unbuckling it from beneath his tabard. Belligerent kissing continued, fueling the fire that burned between them, both unwilling to give space for it to quell._

 _Watching her reaction, Nathaniel cupped her breast, testing boundaries for her consent while she worked to loosen his armor. She exhaled deeply, her lungs expelling oxygen as her eyes closed. He had permission. He blinked, appreciating her breast's fleshy roundness beneath layers of armored fabric. The tender massage morphed to militant. His palm pressed harder, groping with drive._

 _Then she freed him. His length released from the confines of his breeches. Their kiss halted. A second passed and she scanned him, studying his member with evaluative eyes. He waited; angry, throbbing, yearning for satisfaction, but unwilling to force the heated moment._

 _But she didn't back down. Fingers wrapped around him, and she tugged, hard, stroking his length with an unforgiving hand. Pained and frustrated he grunted and his finger inadvertently wrapped around her throat. He paused as her chin lifted, daring him, teeth bared._

 _She hissed, "do it."_

 _And he obeyed. Digits restricted her airway, pressure applied prompted the throbbing of her artery. She closed her eyes, relishing the painful sensation. Her hand loosened his member. Light touches tickling its response. Being witness to her enjoyment of the unlikely stimulus urged blood flow. He released her neck._

 _Hasty hands traveled under her tabard, unlacing her breeches. But she shoved him again. This time with more force, causing him to stumble. He caught himself before he fell, looking up to see her pulling down her breeches herself. Slow steps took Nathaniel to the hostile Commander. Tempted by the Queen of Ferelden's exposed legs beneath her armor. Her head tilted back, exposing the length of her neck, spurning him to overpower._

 _And he did. Reaching her, his hands controlled her hips, turning her around and bending her over her own desk. Her palms pressed on the surface, controlling her body's movement. Her cheek rested on wood as she awaited his entry._

Nathaniel committed the moment to memory as one of his most distinguished achievements.

Though she had moaned quite audibly in pleasure, afterward, Caoilainn was livid. She threatened to have him discharged for insubordination. But she ordered him back to her office the following night.

 _And with another shove, this time he fell to the ground. Between steps, Caoilainn pulled off her boots and wriggled out of her breeches. Her small clothes came next._

 _Pushing up on his elbows, Nathaniel watched with confusion as she stepped over him, walking up the length of his body until she stood over his face. Looking down, a challenging eyebrow raised, arching with derision before she lowered. Legs bending with controlled calves, flexed thighs tight from training. Her heat, wet and waiting, hovered over his mouth._

Despite the handful of women Nathaniel had been with by that age, none had ever done that. And that was just the beginning. Games continued until the enemy was eventually defeated and the darkspawn returned underground. Duty to the Wardens kept them apart but when they were together, it was as if no time had passed. The relationship was convenient. Rules and guidelines formed over time in respect of their limitations and the innate need for secrecy.

Both knew not to ask the other questions about their outside lives; Nathaniel did not ask for information about Alistair or her responsibilities as Queen. Nor was he jealous when she had gone back to the Ferelden courts to serve alongside Alistair. Nathaniel's time with Caoilainn ceased, until she returned to commanding a few years later. Her explanation offered little: her heart was with the Wardens and she did not care for court life. Nathaniel knew not to press further.

* * *

Now, a decade later, Nathaniel concluded he lacked the capacity of being in a relationship and he saw that in Caoilainn, as well. Headstrong and over-dedicated to work, he found familiarity with the Warden Commander. Beneath the inappropriate liaisons, Caoilainn and Nathaniel found they worked well together. Respect for the other's boundaries and commitment to work allowed an unexpected friendship to bloom.

On the Wardens ride through the gates of Skyhold, Caoilainn was addressed by many loyal Wardens with smiles and appreciation. Senior Wardens with some time in the order, joined by a few promising recruits prepared to engage on their mission. Caoilainn could hear the smirk in Nathaniel's voice as he called to her from his horse. "I wonder… how do you keep up with us, oh Mother of Wardens?"

Caoilainn's eyes shot daggers. She gave a stern reply that transformed to a laugh, "patience and discipline. You should try them sometime."

Nathaniel's knowing chuckle resounded as his horse trotted closer to hers. "Discipline, my ass."

"Lieutenant!" Caoilainn snapped. "I will not tolerate such language from a Warden in uniform." She kept a cold face, but her humor was evident.

Few people knew Nathaniel's playful side. His flirty nature disappeared when he returned to his duties, making him a stoic leader reputable for his lack of humor. The dynamic made joking with him about his professionalism even more amusing.

"Fine," he replied stubbornly. "I will try your version patience and discipline until I am not in the blue."

Subtle but flirtatious, he referenced being out of the blue and silver tabard donned by those in the Grey Warden order; he tested boundaries.

She chastised him with an aggressive whisper, "Lieutenant, I'd suggest you choose your words more carefully." The mischievous twinkle in her eye opposed her curtness.

The two rode in silence as the other Wardens surrounded them on foot to Skyhold. It was common knowledge the two had known each other long before they joined the Order. If the other Wardens had any suspicion of the relationship between the Lieutenant and the Commander, none had been brave enough to question it aloud.


	4. Chapter 4: Some Risks are Worth It

Skyhold's capacity to house fighters was already at its limit, as a result, the Wardens and Highever soldiers occupied encampments outside of Skyhold's gates. The Wardens did not waste time. As soon as their encampment was set, they began to train. Caoilainn glowed as she watched the Wardens practice. Her life revolved around them and they were her reason to live. The order, their pledge- it all sustained her and it showed as she directed them.

That night was sure to be entertaining, as well. Thanks to one particular Warden, her lieutenant, Nathaniel Howe. With tactical precision, as if she were strategizing a stealth mission, she laid out a plan to get Nathaniel to her room unnoticed that night. She had no wish to allow rumors about the Queen's infidelity to spread as the result of an unexpected witness. So long as Nathaniel left her room before dawn, they would be in the clear if her calculations were accurate, which they always were.

The sex with Nathaniel was always aggressive, she could count on it. Their anger toward each other, no- toward the universe, in general- could never be abated; it was merely tamed and utilized for the right context. They were two people, wounded beyond repair, who had found a safe haven for their dark sides with each other. Caoilainn knew that this was why she was not good at being Queen, why she was not good at being a wife. She was broken. Her blood thirst was too strong to be a proper lady and the only thing she imagined might quell it was not an option for her. A baby. Despite that being her main reason for coming here, once the Wardens joined, and Nathaniel with them, her urgency significantly decreased. Her attention had instinctively shifted back to commanding and Nathaniel was sordid reprieve.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Nathaniel knocked lightly on her door.

He heard a soft 'come in' from inside Caoilainn's room, giving him permission to enter. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle. If only out of habit, Nathaniel scanned the room quickly to assess the situation and calculate risks. Her bed was unmade and she was sitting on it, wearing only a loose fitting, ornate silk robe.

Nathaniel stopped in the doorway to observe the beautiful, strong-willed woman who was waiting for him. This woman should not be allowed to him for a number of reasons. Not only was she his Commander, she was also eight years younger, and the little sister of his childhood friend. Furthermore, Caoilainn's husband, who happened to be the King, was notably younger, tanner, blonder, and generally more attractive than himself. Nathaniel's roughness was not necessarily pleasing to the eye of many women. But he was certain that his roughness was exactly why Caoilainn was drawn to him. These things, in addition to the overall clandestineness of their relationship fueled his ego.  
"Close the door, old man," Caoilainn teased with a vicious tone.

Nathaniel frowned for a moment, but it turned into a grin. He knew she was testing him. He obeyed her order and closed the door. With an eyebrow raised, he walked toward her challengingly. "I'll make you pay for that, Commander."

Caoilainn laughed condescendingly. It was melodious. The sound made Nathaniel's blood boil and his bulge stir as he predicted her arrogant laughter changing to beautiful, begging moans with his influence.

"Nate, you know that I'm the one who will determine punishments. That is, after your report, of course." Her arrogance continued.

"Oh, I'll give it to you," he assured as he made his way to the bed. Slow, silent steps brought him closer until his hands met her shoulders with pressure. He pushed Caoilainn to her back and spread her legs wide with his hands in a quick sequence.

The cloth of her robe fell to her sides, exposing her pale, lean body as he pulled her to the edge. Caoilainn's full, plump breasts naturally spread, widened with the effects of gravity. For a few long seconds, Nathaniel savored the way she looked, naked and vulnerable; lines of the well-trained muscles through her skin were evidence of her ability to resist and that dared him to pursue. He did not linger, only because he knew that if he waited too long she could take away this opportunity. Getting it back would be joined with snarky insults to his age and subservience beneath her. He did not wish to give her that pleasure.

So he slithered on top of her with a wicked grin. Overpowered, pinned to the bed, she could not move, just as he intended. Nathaniel was a skilled scout; a fighter accustomed to debilitating enemies when they were too close to shoot with an arrow. This was something he was trained to do. His hand spread around Caoilainn's delicate, fragile neck, caressing her smooth, fair skin. Then his fingers wrapped around and tightened with such skill and finesse that her breathing was restricted, but not prevented. She gave him a snarling smile. It was lovely. This was her bliss and he was delighted to give it to her. Nathaniel was glad to hold her source of life, literally in the palm of his hand.

His other slid between her legs. Separating lips to stroke the wet heat that he was sure to find. His expectations were correct. She made a whimpering growl as he teased her. With a quick inhale, she took advantage of his shift of weight and wrapped her legs around his arm, then twisted. Nathaniel laughed vindictively as Caoilainn used the force of her legs to push her off of him. She sat back up on the bed as he knelt on the ground before her. _Right where he should be_ , Caoilainn thought. Beneath her. The whiteness of her teeth emphasized her sharp canines as she grinned sinfully. She was a lioness ready to take her kill. But not before she tortured him.

"Eat me," she ordered.

"...Yes, ma'am," he growled as he edged closer to the bed on his knees. Then he licked his plump lower lip before dragging his teeth over it with a smirk. Caoilainn directed his head down, between her legs. She laid down once he started and her hands raked through his hair; her nails clawed at his scalp.

Though she might like to think so, this was not a punishment. Nathaniel loved the taste of women, Caoilainn in particular. He eagerly lapped, licked, nipped and sucked on different parts of her swollen, slick, pink flesh. The sounds of her indignant moans and panting made him harder. Nathaniel enjoyed the control gained with his head between her legs; power claimed by giving pleasure.

Caoilainn's back arched as he continued. Her hips rocking forward to his mouth, providing him with ample space for his tongue to reach wherever it wanted. With the attention of his tongue: smooth, precise, and persistent as it was on the bundle of nerves, he brought a hand between her legs and entered her fleshy, pink core with one finger. He curled it inside of her, pushing upward, knowing that her elevated moans and curses of pleasure would occur like clock work.

"Fuck!" she rasped. "Maker's breath." Caoilainn gripped at his hair tighter. Her nails, like talons on Nathaniel's skull. Her climax was sudden and powerful. Her back lifted off the bed as it arched. Nathaniel grasped her by her open legs, glancing up from his station, entertained by her waves of ecstasy all at the whim of his talented tongue.

Caoilainn came down. Her body jerked and she closed her legs to him, ushering him away non-verbally.

"That sounded sufficient," he stated, wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. It was not a question. Nathaniel rose from the ground to look down at her on the bed.

She looked up seductively, then spread her legs wide to invite him back. "I suppose," she whispered lowly. "But you've given better."

Nathaniel laughed, fully aware that this woman was pushing him. Without response to her derision, he took off his clothes, only breaking their intense game of eye contact when it was required. It was a staring contest, a challenge to see who would submit first. Neither did.

Until he stood in the nude, glaring down at her with his length erect, angrily waiting. Caoilainn's eyes narrowed in anticipation for his next move; his next attempt to overthrow her reign of this interaction. This part of their game was a wrestling match like skilled combat. Who could immobilize the other with pleasure first?

Swiftly, he stepped in between her legs and slid her forward to provide him with leverage on the bed. Then he pushed one of her legs back to her chest, again pinning her down. He did this quickly, in an attempt to give her as little time as possible to overthrow him. Her other leg wrapped around his waist and he entered her. It felt exquisite. She was tight and full, smooth and slick. He grunted as he thrust hard. His thrusts were echoed with Caoilainn's ragged gasps, and she exhaled in an aggressive moan. Nathaniel stared at her seriously, challenging her to succumb to the ecstasy that he was giving, forcefully, over and over. Caoilainn did not blink.

Instead, she snarled. In a quick movement, she used her own leverage and her free leg to push him off and pin him down on the bed. She was on top. Her nails dragged against his chest and he let out a shiver, which trailed off into another condescending laugh. He was trying to hide his reaction. Caoilainn gave him little time to do so before she directed his shaft back inside of her. She sank onto it, allowing it to fill her entirely.

Nathaniel groaned, unable to resist the urge to close his eyes as he felt her from the inside. He was losing this game. In desperation, he grabbed at her hips tightly, searching for mental balance as she rocked on top of him. _Damn it_ , he cursed himself. _Fuck, she's good_. Caoilainn rolled her hips over and over, angling his shaft inside her in the perfect ways so that she felt him, hard against her most sensitive places. His hips bucked up to meet hers involuntarily and he groaned roughly as he felt the splintering impact of his own climax. He thrust up, hard. His hands pulling her hips down on him with force.

"Caoi…" he started to say her name through his moan. Quickly and forcefully, she put a hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his moan.

As he pulsed inside of her, she reached another climax. Her body froze; she did not make a sound. Then she gasped and panted loudly, releasing in a whimper. She kept her hand in its place over his mouth until she was done.

Caoilainn dismounted as gracefully as ever and laid down next to him. One of their agreements to this relationship, or rather, one of her rules, was that they not use each others names in the act. He had broken one of the rules tonight and he was not sure how Caoilainn would respond.

They did not speak of it. Instead, she fell asleep on the bed without so much as a goodnight to him. Perhaps presumptively, Nathaniel chose to believe that Caoilainn's lack of scolding was because she understood his predicament. Or perhaps, his performance made up for the slip-up. Either way, he was satisfied.

Early the next morning, Caoilainn nudged Nathaniel to wake him well before dawn. When he did not rise easily, she pushed him off the bed less than carefully and hissed, "Nate, hurry up!" Nathaniel dressed quickly and stopped by the bed to kiss her before leaving. It was sweet at first, which was unexpected. They did not usually do such affectionate things like kiss each other. That was until he bit her lip scornfully, punishment for making him rise so early. He pulled away with a malicious grin.

Once he left the room, she laid back down on the bed with her hands over her face. Despite the amazing fuck that Nate was, she knew that they were being too risky. Or rather, she was being too risky, as she was the Commander. There were far too many potential onlookers in Skyhold who could see the smallest thing and come up with a number of complicated conclusions. She cursed herself for her weakness, but her body was still humming from the night before.

After washing up at the sink in the room and dressing, she departed out to the yard before the Wardens woke. Then she heard it: the distant thrumming of a large military body. The Highever soldiers were collecting in the yard, awake, fed and ready to train. She watched them milling about as they looked in the distance for the additional troops on their way. Many of the Highever soldiers had served in Ferelden's army, and vise versa. The Highever soldiers were likely excited to see old friends and to show support for their kingdom.

Highever, represented by green laurels on blue, the colors of the sea- the sigil appeared redundantly on the soldier's clothing, shields and tents. It was the symbol for Caoilainn's family. 'Second only to the King,' their house words. In fact, some called the Cousland's the Kings of the North. Their supportive ties to King Maric before his disappearance, holding the position of teyrn and most importantly, the ridiculous amount of money in their bank had made the Cousland's quite notable.

Caoilainn observed the troops in the distance with a rising anxiety. A knot began to tighten in her stomach. Something did not feel right about the Ferelden troop's arrival and she could not identify the source.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5: One From Many

It was a standard morning in Skyhold. Fighters practiced in the yard. Ambassadors from various allies met with one another, consulting about the most recent political actions of the Orlesian civil war, or the casualties at the most recent battle.

The stronghold was oblivious of the pending arrival of their most sizable ally.

Then the ground began to rumble. A low and steady purr that was sensed only by a few. The sound of marching soldiers' feet beating on the ground grew louder and louder as they drew near, until it seemed like the entire keep was shaking in an earthquake. Hundreds of men marched under the banner of Ferelden: two center facing, red rampant mabari on gold. The sigil of House Theirin. 'One from Many' were their words.

A white steed carried the King at the front of the sea of men. Alistair had been offered a private carriage, but he declined. Just because he was King did not mean he was above riding his own damn horse, he thought. Being treated like a child was Alistair's least favorite part of the whole King business. As if making important decisions for the Kingdom was so challenging that he had to be coddled when he was not in court. In fact, he was not even supposed to be here, on his way to Skyhold.

His wife, the clever and tenacious queen that she was, thought she could sneak 500 of his men right from under his nose. She had been avoiding him for nearly five years now, evading her obligations to the crown and her commitments to their marriage. In a number of ways. But alas, despite her dreadful display of affection, he still loved her deeply.

* * *

Her heart beat faster as she observed the army approaching. Her mouth was dry, the pit in her stomach seemed to be growing, and a sensation of nausea was taking over. Something was not right.

In pursuit of some sort of control over the situation, Caoilainn crossed the yard to climb the stairs to the battlements. With a better view of the sight before her, her eyes narrowed like a hawk.

The banners were visible and the lines of bodies became clear in her view. Dumbfounded, she blinked… and blinked again.  
At the head of the army was a white horse, gilded with elaborate, red armor. Riding it was a handsome man with a shit-eating grin on his face. A man with strawberry blonde hair. He was wearing the Ferelden crown.

Caoilainn's jaw dropped.

The army stopped some yards away from the gate, but the man on the white steed trotted closer.

"Hi honey!" He yelled up to Caoilainn who looked down from the battlements, mouth gaping.  
Caoilainn was suddenly dizzy but she stared back blankly. Wordless.

Without realizing that she was moving, her feet dutifully carried her down the stairs of the battlements. Surprisingly, she managed to descend the stairway without falling over from shock. Caoilainn pondered her own sanity as she turned to watch his horse trot through the gate. Given the choice, she would rather assume she was losing her mind than admit this was not a hallucination.

She faced him. Time stopped for Caoilainn when they made eye contact, his gaze and cheeky grin leaving her immobile. She knew she was in trouble.

Alistair knew she knew she was in trouble.

Even after the incredibly long ride to get here, which he may have rushed just for this particular moment, Alistair was excited. Yes, his ass hurt from riding, he was hungry for a decent meal, and longed for a real bed, but the satisfaction he got from the look on his wife's face when she saw him was worth it. He had instantly spotted her looking down at him from the battlements. She was that predictable.

 _There's that look of utter dismay_ , he thought lovingly as they locked eyes in the yard. She'd been caught, red handed.  
The 500 man army standing behind him was proof. Of course, he could have nixed Caoilainn's request when he found out about it, but he knew this would surely be more fun. The striking woman who stared back at him had the face of someone who was finally met with repercussions of an excess of power. Caoilainn had been untouchable for too long, and her ego had bloated as her influence grew.

Underneath his amusement with knocking her from her high horse, as he sat atop his, he genuinely longed for her company. For her smile, her touch, and her love. Undeniably, the sight of Caoilainn- simply being in her presence- tugged at his heart like a line for which she had the reel. He didn't disparage this fact; it simply was. That did not stop him from finding enjoyment from teasing her in the meantime.

"My love…," he greeted. His voice rang with his familiar pet name for her. It was what he always called Caoilainn, once he admitted feelings all those years ago. It was soft and kind and for a moment, she thought Alistair would give her a pass for this particular transgression. "Dear," the word stung. It was an appropriate way for a nobleman to address his wife and Alistair used it deliberately, sarcastically. "What do you think you're doing with my army?"

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6: War Room

Her pink, luscious lips opened and closed, attempting to form words, but no sound came out. Her cheeks reddened as she stared at him. The ability for Caoilainn to form a complete sentence, let alone a thought, had been completely compromised by her state of shock. Her eyes were wide, like a deer caught in a snare.

The moment dragged on awkwardly and Alistair let it, at least until he was satisfied with his level of amusement. "Well we'll just have to sort that all out later, won't we?" He dismounted his horse and handed it to an Inquisition scout. The scout bowed and walked the horse to the stables. "You should introduce me to this Inquisitor Alanna… Lavellan, is it? That's elven, yeah?"

Caoilainn nodded. "Uh huh," she stammered dumbly before attempting a smile that did not remotely hide the shame written across her face. "This way… darling." _Damn it!_ Caoilainn cursed herself internally. She never called him darling; it was so rigid and proper.

Muscles stiff, she mechanically turned to walk toward Skyhold's great hall. But before she could take her first step, she heard a familiar male voice call from the gate.  
"Do you have any orders for me to give the Wardens, Commander?"

Caoilainn froze. _Well, shit,_ she thought, before turning to face the source. Nathaniel stood at the gate with a mixed expression of concern and amusement. She deducted that his question was a last minute attempt at aiding her in her current predicament.

Caoilainn nodded blankly again, this time to Nathaniel, before walking over to the gate. Alistair's eyes followed but he did not interrupt. Patiently, expectantly, he waited with raised eyebrows.

Her voice professional and authoritative, Caoilainn gave orders to Nathaniel. "Yes, Lieutenant. Give the directions for training: I want the mages strengthened and I want extra attention on the new recruits." Then she lowered her voice and hissed, " …and leave me alone." Her hand formed a fist, then it rose to her chest to salute.

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a tight smile. "Yes ma'am," he forced out as he mirrored her motion. Then he coughed and hissed back lowly. "You two should decide who outranks who on your way in. Best to avoid awkward introductions."

Eyes large and face red with rage, Caoilainn took a deep breath to stay her anger. Nathaniel snorted, turned, and walked back to the Grey Warden camp to give her orders. Stunned by the blatant insolence of her Warden, especially in these unique circumstances, she took another deep breath.

 _Chin up. Tits out._ That's what Morrigan had taught her. Caoilainn shook her head to clear the jumble of incomplete thoughts that had collected and returned to Alistair to escort him to the War Room to meet Inquisitor Alanna.

Armor clinking with each step, King Alistair strode through Skyhold's great hall. It took effort to retain his grin as he watched the inhabitants scurry out of the way of their processional. Some people seemed to recognize him and bowed in awe as he passed, others just stared in confusion. Finding entertainment from these situations was all Alistair could do to make them bearable because in actuality, he was tired. Tired from traveling, tired from ruling- especially from doing so alone- but most of all, from all the attention. Celebrity was incredibly draining. The least he could do to save from loathing it was to find humor.

Caoilainn walked just ahead of him. She was distant, literally and figuratively, as she avoided his gaze. Alistair debated as they walked whether to throw her to the wolves or not. Ratting out her abuse of power to gain influence within Skyhold would certainly be a harsh slap of reality for Caoilainn, and it would do nothing to strengthen their relationship, nor would it represent the unity of the Ferelden crown in front of the other political figures.

The duo, followed by a collection of Ferelden guards and advisors, entered the War Room of Skyhold. Buzzing with activity, the Inquisitor was surrounded by her War Council, Inquisition members, and some ambassadors of allies aiding the movement. The room fell silent, and the small crowd parted, as Caoilainn and Alistair stepped toward the War Table.

The Inquisitor greeted them with a nod. "King Alistair?" Alanna asked with a hint of confusion. The petite elven woman looked strong and willful; magical energy vibrated off of her but she looked tired, he recognized, relating to the exhaustion within himself. Yet, Alanna appeared determined and as though she had an inner force to be reckoned with. "We were led to believe you would not be able to join us." Alanna's eyes darted to Caoilainn who stared back guiltily.

"Yes, well, that…" Alistair smiled charmingly and intervened the accusing eye contact. "I did not think I would have the opportunity to join this cause, but when my lovely Queen requested our troops, I just knew I had to uphold my duty to the Wardens and Ferelden." His subtle use of sarcasm with the words 'lovely queen' was barely noticeable. "I cancelled all of my meetings at once."

Alistair left out the fact that he was already on his way to Kirkwall for the summit meeting. That was until a concerned advisor, whom he had ordered give him notice immediately upon any word of his wife, sent a messenger to his convoy. Alistair turned the entire fleet around right away.

His eyes moved to Caoilainn as he spoke. He saw two things:

First, Caoilainn had moved from his side to stand along the ambassadors, finding a spot at the head of some other Grey Warden representatives. _Predictable._ He noticed that the lieutenant from the yard had stealthily found his way into the War Room and was standing behind her, looking smug and self-satisfied.

The second, in the back of the room, was someone he was not prepared to see. In fact, someone he had been told from the source he would never see again.

Morrigan.

She looked as annoyed as ever, an unamused eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for him to stop talking. Alistair's stomach twisted and he had to catch his breath before looking back to the Inquisitor. "So…," he added, regaining his center. "When shall we go kill the bad guys?"

Eyes narrowed while attempting to stifle a smile, Alanna wondered: _Is this man joking in my War Room?_ Alanna had quickly deducted who he must be. The dashing, slightly cocky man, stood tall, emblazoned with royal regalia. He was quite kingly and had a horribly timed sense of humor. That in itself was amusing to Alanna. Insightful to a fault, and adept at reading the energy of others, Alanna could feel the tension between the King and Queen the moment they walked in the room. The flustered look on the Warden Commander's face, with a trace of anger and embarrassment contrasted Alistair's ruthless gaiety and wit. Alanna wondered what was going on between Caoilainn- who had written her, offering the largest donation of armed soldiers of any ally thus far- and the King, whom she had ensured would not be joining. It was ultimately irrelevant to the needs of the Inquisition, Alanna thought, shrugging off the couple's discourse. Though, she noted, the lack of communication could be problematic in the future. A humble smile found its way to her lips.

"Pleased to meet you, King Alistair. I am Alanna Lavellan." Her eyes shifted back to the War Table. "We were just looking at the map of Orlais to coordinate a mission in the Arbor Wilds." She glanced at Alistair to check his reaction.

Alistair had written to the Inquisition when they were little more than a rag tag band of survivors from Haven, offering condolences to their purpose and asking for a favor regarding communications with Orlais. The blatant neutrality of the Inquisition could easily conflict with the history between the two countries.

Now, the King's offer to help would require him to step foot in the mask wearing rival's land. It would be a test of allegiance and commitment.

 _Lovely,_ Alistair thought to himself sarcastically… _Orlais._

Apolitical and allied with no crown, the Inquisition had freedom to move through the borders of both Ferelden and Orlais without limitations. A large band of Ferelden soldiers, on the other hand, may receive some push back. The Grey Wardens had more leeway as they had no political affiliation, though the different chapters of Wardens were mostly autonomous. They all served the First Warden in Weisshaupt; their only purpose to destroy darkspawn and other demony-type things. Alistair missed his days as a Warden and it hurt when he recalled how this whole mess started. If he could have guessed when he met Caoilainn, he would have predicted himself as the future Warden Commander, not her. A tinge of jealousy burned within him.

"Alright then," he said in reluctant agreement. "Though I doubt the Orlesians will be thrilled by a fleet of Fereldens marching right through their empire, if we are under the Inquisition banner, I suppose we will manage." His statement was made with a shrug and air of defeat but he bounced back quickly with a smile. "I can assure that myself and my men will be on our best behavior while in service to yourself and the Inquisition," Alistair winked.

Caoilainn stared hard at him while he communicated with Alanna, praying to the Maker and Her Beloved Andraste that he did not say something stupid in the process. Having held her breath through his response, she exhaled when he finished talking, relieved by Alistair's tamed playfulness and nearly adequate tact. _Such a flirt,_ she thought with annoyance.

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	7. Chapter 7: Fealty

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The meeting in the War Room continued as the details of the exploration of the Arbor Wilds were deliberated. Once her presence was no longer needed, Caoilainn tiptoed from the room and returned to check on the training of the Grey Wardens./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"br /She laid low for the day, and by nightfall, she had retired early to the small room that had been allotted to her in Skyhold. Shed from her armor- the Warden tabard which was a symbol for her, her commitments as Warden Commander and her strength, both physical and mental- she was undressed, wearing only her champagne colored robe, tied loosely to her body. The robe expertly displayed her femininity and nobility. Made of silk, with lace accents and intricate, embroidered flowering vines sewn in, it was probably the most regal thing she wore. It was no surprise that she wore it only in the privacy of her /br /Bed still unmade from the night before, Caoilainn sat, brushing out the long, blonde locks of hair which were usually secured in a loose braid. Breathing, decompressing, processing. The events of the day had been a whirlwind and not only did she need to calm herself, she also needed to strategize her comeback. Alistair's arrival had astonished her and in the worst way possible; she wasn't ready to see him. The guilt she felt for the affair, her inability to give him a child, her choosing of the Wardens over him, time and time again, all weighed on her mind. In every instance, she made a choice and Alistair always came second. Caoilainn's misdeeds were her burden and she knew she brought it on /br /Lost in thought, she did not hear the door click softly when it opened./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Alistair knew this was the room. He had been directed here by one of the members of the council, or something. Names were unimportant when compared to his task at hand. In this moment, his priority was to find his wife. Fear lingered that she could have very well run away again, once she left his /br /Alistair opened the door quietly. There she was. Brushing her long hair slowly, day dreaming, worrying about something. emProbably me/em, he /br /He noticed the robe. He had given it to her the night of their coronation, when they became King and Queen. And now, like always, it was draping off the contours of her body perfectly. Clinging to her nearly bare shoulders, her breasts were accentuated, the fabric lightly kissing her skin. The persuasive curve of her hips was /br /And her ass. It sat firmly on the bed, pushing against it with force, practically demanding the mattress to submit. Oh, her ass had a way about it. He was /br /They had been apart for far too long. Alistair knew she had been stressed because of the baby, or lack thereof. That stress had created a rift between them. Or rather, it had created a rift for her between them. Alistair was not concerned about a child the way she was: obsessive, stubborn, /br /Alistair's eyes lingered as he admired the crushing and relentless beauty of the woman before him; the woman with whom he defeated the Archdemon; the woman he /br /"Maker's breath but you're beautiful," he murmured from the /br /A few drops of Caoilainn's ice cold demeanor melted away when she heard him. She turned to see him standing, fully armored with a pleased look on his /br /He continued talking as she stared. "I guess they assume a king and queen would share a bed. Silly, isn't it?" His nose wrinkled /br /"Alistair…" her voice dragged with disappointment and /br /He couldn't help but smile. "You're still cute when you get all irritable, you know that? You still get that little knot right between…" He motioned to his forehead as he explained before he waved it down. "Oh, never mind. We have other things to discuss tonight."br /br /Like someone approaching a rabid animal, Alistair took a few, slow steps forward and as he did, Caoilainn rose. The silk robe fell further down her shoulders; her voice was low and lustful. "Shut up, Alistair…"br /br /With her breasts almost completely exposed, her robe held on only by the grace of the Maker, Caoilainn glared at Alistair intensely. She was a commander walking into battle with the intention of intimidating her enemy into /br /But Alistair knew this move, only because he had been weak to it more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. And her fingers and toes, for that matter. Many times over. Though he would be unopposed to her seduction, she was attempting to evade a serious /br /Still in his armor, save for his helm, the King smiled down at his nearly naked queen. "Eager, are we?" He shook his head. "Not yet, my love. We need to talk first."br /br /Caoilainn's eyes squinted aggressively, displeased with Alistair's newfound willpower. She crossed her arms; her intimidating glare more hostile than before. "Fine," she said spitefully. "What is there to talk about?"br /br /"Well… hmm… let's start with how you tried to take 500 of my soldiers without telling me, yeah?" His sarcasm was obvious but he did not sound angry. "Then maybe we could follow that with how you've been avoiding me for nearly the last five years," he added. "And why is Morrigan here? Oh… and finally, I know about Nathaniel."br /br /Alistair's list of Caoilainn's grievances- all of her secrets, at least that he knew of- had been laid out in front of her. It caused her eyes to widen in guilt. With a determined silence, she swallowed hard. Defiant. Alistair sat expectantly; a contented grin showing his determined patience for her /br /Eventually, she replied. "I needed to help the Inquisition. I needed a reason to be here."br /br /Alistair's smile softened. "See… that wasn't so hard!" He added jovially. "Go on, I'm all ears."br /br /Caoilainn rolled her eyes at him. "You know why I've been avoiding you. I want a child. Your child. But I need to find a cure for the Calling… and the Blight sickness. It's why I'm here." Bluntly, her words came with an exasperated tone. "I don't know why Morrigan is here. She was working with some emOrlesians/em and then she joined the Inquisition." Caoilainn said the word Orlesian with derogation, as if the word itself were an insult. "I think she can help us find a cure, Alistair."br /br /Alistair's eyebrows lifted with surprise at this last statement. It was a grateful surprise and for the most selfish reasons. Maybe if she could finally find a cure, he could have his partner back. But, Alistair knew if it involved Morrigan it meant the cure would definitely require magic. If it was that powerful, it was even more likely to use blood magic. In the back of his mind, he worried about the status of the child born from the ritual ten years ago. He replied cynically. "Oh, well, then yeah we should definitely get help from her, because Morrigan's never done anything deceitful with us… ever."br /br /Caoilainn shook her head in annoyance and took a deep breath before responding. "I think the cure is in your son."br /br /A jolt of pain instantly sparked between his eyes, forcing Alistair to close them as the words 'your son' rang through his ears. His son. He didn't know the child had been born, and didn't want to know, let alone that it was a boy. Memories of that night with Morrigan flashed in his mind. If only to escape them, he opened his eyes and laughed weakly. "I suppose that would make sense. Please… just tell me it's not going to require blood magic." Desperation and distrust were evident in his words before retiring to defeat. "Wait. Nevermind. Don't tell me. I don't want to know." The women would do what they wished, regardless of his input. Distantly, he hoped for the boy's safety and a chance to see him, at /br /Caoilainn noticed Alistair's loss of centeredness. His mind had wandered and he was off track. With a seductive grin, she softly stepped forward to him. Her body pushed against his armor. Hot skin sticking to metal, dragging against leather and chainmail. Caoilainn's robe was only held on by her forearms, as it brushed against the /br /"I've missed you," she whispered in his /br /Alistair groaned; he was tempted this time. But he laughed. It was the laugh of a man in a dutiful restraint from something he knew would please him greatly. "Oh ho ho, woman…." He took a breath to cool off. "You are so clever. That is why I love you. But… We are not done."br /br /Caoilainn cursed to herself. emWho is this willful, self-controlled king and what has he done with the weak-kneed man I married?/em She pushed away from him with more force than was necessary but he stayed standing like a /br /"What!?" She snarled. "What do you want me to tell you?"br /br /His lips tightened in consternation, debating if he actually wanted the information he /br /Caoilainn looked at him pleadingly, her large silvery-blue eyes begging him to drop it. The act of having this conversation would require her to abandon what little was left of her dignity after the events of the /br /Alistair took another deep breath. "Why are you still fucking your lieutenant?" His question was full of energy, but any hint of anger was /br /Breathlessly, Caoilainn stopped. emWait, /emshe thought, emstill?/em "What?" She asked, genuinely confused by the wording of his /br /"I've known for years, my love. Nearly ten. But why still? If you want a child, why would you keep an affair with another man? Why would you keep risking your integrity as commander? And for a Howe?"br /br /Caoilainn's head was spinning with bewildered thoughts. The news felt like a violation to her, to her secretes, to her life outside of Denerim. "It's not like that," she answered simply, staring hard at he /br /Alistair's eyebrows raised mockingly. "Oh? It looks pretty simple to me."br /br /There was no anger harbored in his tone, which confused Caoilainn even more but her gaze did not lift to meet /br /Alistair knew his wife was complicated, without a doubt. She spent copious amounts of time in her head, dreading, regretting, planning, and strategizing. The escape with Nathaniel had offended him, but it was not shocking. Yes, at first, when he received word of it from a personal scout in Vigil's Keep almost ten years ago. When she came back to the castle, he saw how she was stricken with grief. He did not know how to help her so he played dumb, blocking the reality of her infidelity out of his mind, merely grateful to have her /br /Then she left again and things had changed; he had changed./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Caoilainn's shutting down was predictable, and while it was frustrating, it did not make him angry with her. He moved closer, understanding her distance and wanting to close the space between them. As he took a few steps, he removed his gauntlets, dropped them on the floor, and rested his hands on her shoulders. Lovingly, he took her chin in his hand and directed her face to look at him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"br /There was that stubborn, powerful, delicate, gorgeous glare looking back at him. Naturally, he leaned over to kiss her. His large, calloused hand traveled from her chin to weave through her mane. Alistair's kiss was forceful, fervent and /br /Attempting to defy his love, Caoilainn made a noise in resistance. It lasted only a moment before she succumbed. Instantly, their love was ablaze after so much time smoldering in resentment for one another. Alistair's lips parted hers and he slid his tongue against Caoilainn's. She pushed back with equal force. The kiss was long and hungry, like they had been starved of this intimacy and needed to devour it quickly before it vanished in front of /br /Eventually, they broke away for air. Practically naked, save for the robe that still clung to her arms, Caoilainn was pressed against Alistair in his royal armor, emblazoned with the heads of mabari, argent on the pauldrons and breastplate. "Take off your armor," she whispered in his ear, her voice sultry and /br /He smiled down at her. emOh, no, no, no,/em he thought to himself. emWe aren't going to play that game. /emThe master of strategy, Caoilainn had historically directed their intimate routine. She made sure all of her needs were met before his, with complete control over the entire situation. It wasn't that he was against her needs being met first, quite the contrary, but Caoilainn's control issues needed to take a break. "Bossy. Normally, hot… but not tonight, my love."br /br /emThis is not the routine, /emCaoilainn thought in confusion. This was not her careful balance of passion and romance, love and order that she always provided them. Having memorized all of his turn-ons and sweet-spots, Caoialinn knew how to give Alistair exactly what he wanted. No. What he needed, and in the most effective way /br /"Turn around," Alistair ordered through a /Her eyebrows furrowed. emWhat?/em She asked herself, completed taken aback by Alistair's order. Impatiently, his hands found her waist and directed her motion, turning her hips so that she was required to move her feet. Delicately, his soft kisses met her shoulders, as if he could not resist the sight of her well-defined back without brushing his lips against /br /Caoilainn shivered. His affection felt different. As his kisses traveled to the back of her neck, he pulled the robe off and tossed it to the bed. Unable to see him, she felt his head move away from her body as he directed her arms so that each hand touched the elbow of the other arm; It was a familiar position for her arms when she was commanding. Suddenly, she felt smooth fabric slide against her skin. Her curiosity was piqued and she attempted to tilt her head to look behind her to see what he was doing. Alistair smirked and gently put his hand on her head and guided her gaze back to the wall ahead of her. "No peeking," he /br /The creamy soft texture of silk wrapping and weaving around her arms was arousing and she could feel herself becoming moist with anticipation of whatever he was doing to her. The ache between her legs tenderly reminded Caoilainn of her own /br /The sound of silk against silk echoed through the room as she realized the impact of the tightening of the cord. "There," he announced. Caoilainn heard the pride in his voice. "Turn back around."br /br /She obeyed. Fully exposed, she stood with her arms bound behind her back. The poignant contrast of the armored King's size to her tied and toned body was undeniable. Caoilainn looked down, as if she was unsure what to do, then back up to Alistair questioningly, puzzled by his actions. It was not as though being restrained for pleasure was new to Caoialinn but from Alistair, it was /br /"Good. Now kneel," he ordered her, the way he would a squire awaiting knighthood. Perplexed, but aroused, she complied as she knelt down to her knees in one fluid motion. From the ground, Caoilainn stared up at Alistair with stubborn interest, her head level with his waist. These actions were out-of-character, and the ache she felt for him was becoming /br /He was measuring how much she would resist his next order and paused before continuing. Alistair had been taken aback by her compliance thus far, although he knew it was mostly likely the result of her /br /"Caoilainn Theirin of House Cousland, who do you serve?"br /br /emWhat kind of asinine question is that? /emShe wondered with irritation. The first and most obvious answer came naturally, without a second guess. "Her Beloved Andraste." Vexed, she glared at him before looking back to the ground. Caoilainn did not know what he was getting at and this was /br /Alistair's hand gently found it's way to her head; his fingers laced back through her flowing hair and tightened with enough force to make her to look at him. Without letting go, securing the position of her head, he asked again. "Who do you serve, Caoilainn?"br /br /"The Maker," she answered quickly, /br /He let go of her hair, looked away and removed the bracers protecting his forearms. Caoilainn waited; her patience tested significantly by his silence and her knees beginning to ache from the cold, hard floor. The pauldrons over his shoulders came off next and dropped to the ground along with the /br /He spoke again. "This is the third time I've had to ask… emdear./em Who do you serve?" His voice echoed with humor and sarcasm and a hint of indignation that stimulated Caoilainn's own /br /emAh. Now I get it. /emShe thought as she realized Alistair's motives. She grinned at him sadistically and hissed. "The Grey Wardens."br /br /"Mmm," he made a sound of malicious pleasure as his eyes narrowed and lips spread to a grin. His hand found its place amidst her ashen-blonde locks /br /"emDarling/em…" He pulled with effort, causing her eyes to water. She smiled at the pain, truly enjoying the agonizing sensation. Forgetting for a moment who and where she was, she basked in the sting. When he finally released, she gasped for air. The wetness between her legs began to slide down her inner /br /"Ferelden," her eyes were gently closed as she cooed. Her voice humming the word before he could complete his question. She masochistically provided another incorrect answer in the hopes that he would pull again, /br /Without hesitation, Alistair obliged and she gulped for air. With his grip held tight, he softly growled. "That was closer, my love." His eyes gazed down adoringly at his enchantingly beautiful queen in submission. She looked up. Her large, silvery-blue eyes wide and wet with the pain that was coursing through her nerves. Alistair continued to pull harder as he spoke. His voice was low, dominant and ruling. "But you know that's not the answer. Who… do… you… serve…?" His yanking throbbed with each word as tears of pain streamed down her /br /She moaned in excruciating ecstasy. "I serve my King."/p 


	8. Chapter 8: Overcome

"Mmm," Alistair hummed, pleased with Caoilainn's profession of fealty. It was music to his ears, though he did not believe her. "Is that so?"

His eyes wandered to the four-post bed and he nodded a silent order for her to move.

Hair tangled and knotted from the influence of his forceful hand, she followed his glance to the bed. His hand released from her tussled locks and she rose from the ground. Large watery blue eyes stared at him fiercely.

Caoilainn's resentment of Alistair was crashing against the lust she felt between her thighs. Her urge to break free from her binding, throttle his neck and wipe the grin from his face contradicted the compulsion she felt to rip off his remaining armor and mount him. The conundrum was both debilitating and titillating. At a loss, she obediently remained bound by silk. Gracefully, she stepped to the bed and knelt to face him.

"For now.…" She replied in a tease as she settled into her new position. Her eyes flashed the bubbling mixture of emotions she felt in her glare, now at eye level with him.

"Hm…." Alistair thought aloud as he began to remove pieces of the rest of his armor. His voice carried a sarcastic reply to her taunt. "A king is nothing without a loyal queen, my love. You dutifully swore your fealty to me only a moment ago. Were those just words?"

"No." Her cold voice snapped in reply. "I will serve my King as I serve my order." The statement was loaded. The rebirth of the Ferelden Grey Wardens required her to mother the chapter, an uncanny similarity to dynamics of her relationship with Alistair.

"That is not the same, my dear." He spoke softly, his breastplate dropping to the floor near the rest. "Your responsibilities to the Wardens do not match your responsibilities to me. What is a queen without her king?"

Caoilainn's lips spread wickedly; the whites if her teeth bared in a malevolent grin. "... Stronger," she sang bitterly.

The sharp pain of her answer drove through his chest. Alistair watched his shirt fall to the ground and shifted his gaze to lock with Caoilainn's. Eyes narrow and searching, staring into the cold, pale blue pools for some sense of the soul of the woman that faced him. She was testing his fortitude.

"You're a vile woman," he replied through a small smile. Wearing only his pants and boots, his upper body exposed. He was large, though not as built as he was before he became King. He seemed leaner now, but she could discern he had a small layer of body fat that wasn't there before. His arm lifted, and his large hand met her chin. Softly, he held it, stroking with his thumb. "You're lucky I love you." His gentle thumb ceased and his hand squeezed. Caoilainn's eyes closed at the pleasing pressure.

"I know." She said as she tilted her head back to break free from his grasp, her back arched and her chest exposed. Her test of him continued. Caoilainn offered her bare neck, soft and delicate as it was. It was a vulnerable position from which a less honorable man, a man hungry for her blood, could take her life force.

Alistair chuckled as his hand instinctively wrapped around her jugular. Smiling, Caoilainn inhaled slowly, her airflow tightened as her neck extended. Unable to resist the invitation, Alistair's hand slid to cradle her neck and his head lowered. He bit. Hard. His square jaw clenching as his teeth dug into her defenseless, fair skin. He felt the tempting pulse of her blood flowing freely through her artery against his tongue. The urge to bite harder pulled at the back of his mind, to see how much she could handle, at what point her wall would break. In an effort to restrain this urge, he released her vulnerable neck from his clenches, his hand sliding back around to maintain control.

Caoilainn purred. The intensity was tangible, but her own anxiety interrupted her enjoyment. _What has come over him?_ Suspicion sparked within her; this was uncharacteristic of Alistair.

"Is this what you want?" Alistair asked indifferently, his insistent palm grasping and massaging the bite mark on her neck tightly. He felt her pulse quicken. He wanted her to state permission: an agreement that she desired him, and this way in particular.

"Yes, my King." She hissed, mockingly stating his title, before swallowing against the pressure of his hand. Her heart was pounding with excitement and uncertainty. She was certain he could feel it.

"You will regret that," he cooed, releasing her neck with a light shove and stepping back.

Caoilainn watched Alistair eagerly as he kicked off his boots with deliberation, while she attempted to loosen the silk cord that bound her with subtle wriggles. He was challenging every last ounce of her patience and her body yearned for fulfillment. Nervously wondering how much longer he would tolerate her instigation, the wet heat between her legs ached in lustful agony.

"Is that so?" She asked sarcastically, mimicking his question from a few minutes before.  
Standing in his pants, the definition of his pelvic muscles crept from the waistline, his hands found her. One buried in her hair, and tugged tightly; the other grasped around her face and squeezed. He pulled her face to his. The kiss was angry, aggressive and brief. He pulled away forcefully, holding her indignant gaze to meet his eyes.

"For now," Alistair replied, mocking her response from earlier. _I will make sure she enjoys all aspects of this_ , he thought as his hand pulled her head back, extending her neck again. His other hand found her large, supple breast and massaged. Her pink nipple was hard, alert, and waiting for his touch. Leaning over, his hot breath found tender skin. Caoilainn made a small whimper, unable to refrain from expressing the automatic response of pleasure. Alistair grinned and took her excited nipple into his mouth. Teasing with his tongue, at first. Then he bit, gently. A small nibble at her aroused flesh that turned to a sharp bite. Caoilainn growled. "Fuck!" She snarled stimulated but annoyed.

Alistair raised his head and removed his hands from her body. With a shaking finger, he scolded. "Not yet, my love. I have more in store for you."

Unable to take control with her arms, she was overwhelmed his focus and unable to fathom his self-restraint. His hand moved from her breast to the space between her legs. He grabbed her, roughly. His cupping palm pushing up against her drenched, pink folds. Caoilainn couldn't help but moan. His sudden contact with this aching, sensitive skin was desperately needed. His fingers began to explore the smooth curves of her lips, her tender skin, her yearning entrance, and the bundle of nerves above it. "Mmm," he hummed, tempted. Allured by her body's blatant readiness for him, the urge to abandon this power struggle and take her was provoking, so he pulled his hand away.

"Turn around," he ordered smoothly. Breathing heavily as she came down from the brief and teasing contact, her eyebrows furrowed. Her wriggling had loosened the silk enough to give her movement. Arms extended, she reached to him. Hungry for control and contact. Without any hesitation, Alistair's hands grabbed her by her wrists, his thumbs pressing into the nerves of her palm, causing her hands to go weak. Caoilainn gave a small cry.

He shook his head. "You are so clever… and naughty. We'll have to do something about that."

Guilt and an excited fear flashed across Caoilainn's face. Silently, Alistair guided her from the bed to stand at its corner and he masterfully applied pressure to the inside of her elbow. She was malleable in his hands. He lifted her arms above her head and with patience and precision he retied her, now to the bedpost. The silk tightly wound a high knob in the wood of the post. Caoilainn's palms touched and her face was held between her elbows. Her eyes were wide in anticipation, the spark of jealousy lost in her fervor.

Now standing, bound and naked, she was left almost completely immobilized, entirely exposed. The unfamiliarity of the raw and vulnerable emotion that overcame her was novel. Being completely weak and powerless in general, and to Alistair in particular, enthralled her. Undeniably, she was aware that this was only possible because she trusted him wholly. Already entirely overstimulated, it was taking every last ounce of her effort to hid this awareness from Alistair.

Alistair stood close to her. Hot skin touching hot skin, his pants brushing against her naked body. Void of the ability to move her face, she looked up to him and saw as he stared down proudly.

"Don't move," he said with a smirk.

She sighed at his humor. "Okay…" she replied.

"That's 'okay, sir' to you, Commander."

"Hmm… Okay, _my King_ ," she whispered in creative compliance, toying with the idea of humoring him while maintaining her graceful guard; waiting for her opportunity to regain control.

"You know when you say it like that, I actually like it. Keep going," Alistair affirmed with a smile, pleased with this version of her reply.

Curious fingers traced down her stomach, which contracted automatically in response. His digits knowing, recognizing the curves and lines of her body found their way to her hip bone with ease. And as if he had been searching for this particular location, his fingers dug in.

Caoilainn gasped. "Maker!" Sensations overtook her. Discomfort, like an intense tickle, pain, and unbelievable, overwhelming lust ran through her. Her body desperately attempted to adjust and adapt to his technique in the hopes of lessening the intensity, but she couldn't move. He was forcing her to tolerate, or rather, to acclimate to the pressure. Caoilainn closed her eyes to breathe, again forgetting the world around her.

After many long dragging seconds, his hand released and returned to its re-exploration of her body; he applied more pressure to erogenous zones on her chest and collarbone. It was blissful torture for Caoilainn and her patience began to admit defeat, realizing that she would not gain any active influence of this interaction. She was forced to acknowledge that she liked that.

He rotated her body, stretched against the post of the bed and stood behind her. Instinctively, her back curved more. The provoking roundness of her eager ass was accentuated by the position. Alistair's right hand rubbed her left cheek.

"Bend over more," he ordered.

"Yes, my King." Caoilainn did as he ordered, using whatever freedom she had to move with her arms wrapped above her.

"Good girl." Alistair purred as his hand grabbed at her firm ass and let go. The lovely, wet softness of her pink was exposed to him from this angle.

 _Good girl._ She thought with agitation. _How degrading._

The thought was short lived as she suddenly felt the pain of the palm of his hand against her rear, accompanied by a loud smack. She gasped in exasperation. "Alistair!"

"Alistair, what?" he questioned.  
"Alistair, my King," Caoilainn groaned, half annoyed and half excited.

"Yeeessss?" He asked cheekily, his hand rubbing at the raw and red place on her rear where a hand print was becoming visible.

"Do that again," she whined, begging. "Please."

"Gladly," he whispered, before smacking. Twice this time; quick and hard. The sound echoed through the room, accompanied by Caoilainn's loud gasps and groans.

"Mmm," she purred blissfully.

"Mmm, indeed," he echoed.

As if Alistair had also acknowledged her admission of surrender, he stepped back and found a chair at the other side of the small room. Calmly, he moved it so that he could sit observe her, fully powerless, fully exposed, anxiously waiting for his next action. She was absolutely stunning as she stood there, messy and panting. They remained in silence for a few moments until she broke.

"Damn it," she whimpered weakly in frustration.

"Hmmmm?"

"Damn it Alistair, my King."

"Mmmmmhmm." He hummed, pleased with her compliance.

"Alistair… please," she groaned.

"Please what, my love?"

"Have me," she begged.

"Swear your fealty to me again," he ordered intensely from across the room.

Helpless, she looked at him from between her elbows. Silence lingered heavily in the room and every inch of Caoilainn's body violently craved him.

"King Alistair Theirin, son of Maric… I serve you." She sounded sincere.

"For how long?"

"Forever." Her statement was followed by another pregnant pause. "Please… fuck me, my King."

Alistair grinned. Music to his ears. He took one last moment to soak in the sight of his Caoilainn's plea. Then he rose from the chair, unlaced and removed his pants, and walked to her.

She watched him as he neared, studied his body, his erection. Blinded by the the intensity of her passion, Caoilainn almost didn't recognize him, as if she was seeing this person for the first time.

Knowledgeable hands found her stomach, dragging down to her legs. He reached between and wandered again, teasing. Searching. She whined loudly.

"Alistair…" she pleaded. With her request, the attention of his fingers rested on the tiny nub of nerves. He rubbed deliberately and slow at first, then his speed quickened, making small circles with his finger against her nub. She squirmed and moaned loudly. Her fervently patient pleasure quickly rose; moans became quiet and her breaths came fewer and further between.

"Ask if you can finish," he whispered while she escalated, obviously nearing an orgasm.  
She groaned a half laugh. _Really?_ She thought in frustration. Yet, she obeyed. It took everything within her to withhold her climax. Her body strained and her muscles tightened at the self induced torture. "Please… can I finish?" She moaned between gasps.

"Not yet," he replied coolly. His finger stopped moving and he turned her around. She could feel his sizeable erection pressed against her ass. It was familiar, loving and she wanted it more than she had in a very long time. With a hand on her shoulder, he steadied her body and spread her feet apart with his own; her arms still secured to the bed. She had accepted her lack of movement long ago. His other hand pushed against a cheek, seeking the appropriate angle at which he could guide himself inside of her slick, pink core. Caoilainn groaned as he entered. Her muscles instantly clenched around his shaft, desperately using what little control she had to hold him inside of her.

"Oh, Maker," she cooed in a gasp.

"Hmm?" He asked, rocking his hips against her. His hands guided her exquisite rear over him to meet his slow, methodical thrusts.

"My King…" She said in a quiet whimper. He continued and his thrusts became harder. She pushed her hips against him with whatever ability she had.

"Yes?" he replied lovingly. His own pleasure was taking over.

"Oh please… Alistair, my King..." She gulped for air, using every muscle in her body to delay the boiling pleasure she felt concentrating within her. "May I finish now?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "You may."

"Maker!" She cried as she released quickly into the overwhelming and long due ecstasy. Her body seized in indulgence for what seemed like an eternity. "Alistair…" she called softly at the peak.

A hand left her hip and found it's way back to her hair. He gripped tightly as if his steadiness depended on it. The intensity of his hungry thrusts increased until he froze; his body spasmed and he spilled inside of her with a grunt. "Caoilainn…" he growled, as his member relentlessly expelled every last drop of himself. She felt him pulsing in her core and it caused her to release another small moan.

They remained connected until their heart rates slowed and his spasms ceased. When he pulled himself out of her, they both shivered, gratified. The connection of their bond echoed between them.

Carefully, tactfully, he unbound her and guided her arms back down to her sides. Caoilainn stumbled clumsily as she attempted to adjust to the return of her complete freedom and mobility. Tired and limp, she fell onto Alistair. She let out a giggle, drunk from the adrenaline fatigue that was overtaking her. Without a moment of hesitation, he caught Caoilainn in his arms and lifted her. Alistair beamed at his exhausted wife, as he carried her to the bed and laid her down.

He laid next to her. Both of their bodies covered in a light veil of sweat. Instinctively, with no thought, she snuggled in close to him. He stroked his hands on the tender and raw places of her skin, marks now more visible than ever. He kissed her wrists to soothe her as she lay resting weakly.

As he petted her tangle of hair with affection, Caoilainn mumbled through a sleepy stupor. "I love you, Alistair."

He hadn't heard her say that in years.

"I know. And I love you, Caoilainn." He replied, unsure if she heard him before she drifted off to sleep. He quickly joined her.

At dawn the next morning, Alistair awoke to the sound of swords clashing in the training yard outside. The bed was empty and Caoilainn was gone.


	9. Chapter 9: Strategy

Light shone in the small room near the tavern at Skyhold. Flecks of dust floated in the air and slowly swirled in the rays. Alistair laid in what had been Caoilainn's bed, prior to his arrival, with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

She was predictable.  
He was certain that Caoilainn had been surprised by their interaction last night, overwhelmed even- with not only how he had shown up, but especially how much she enjoyed it. The determined woman was likely taking out her confusion with some heavy training, and probably yelling at any innocent bystander who got in her way.

Alistair couldn't help but feel a certain sense of achievement with the thought that he had flustered Caoilainn to such a degree. After a few minutes of soaking in the sense of satisfaction, he rose to wash up and dress. Donning his standard, and more importantly, less royal looking armor, plated with leathers and lined with furs, he headed from the room to the Ferelden army's encampment outside of Skyhold. His desire to view the effects of their night together on Caoilainn was strong, but he knew he must give some space and time for her emotions to settle. Caoilainn's predictability was Alistair's greatest weapon.

* * *

"Is that all you've got?!" Caoilainn yelled at a seasoned rogue with whom she was practicing hand to hand combat. She had dodged his every punch and each attempt he made to undermine or evade her lead over him had been met with a solid counter attack. Her final counter had knocked him to the ground. "Take your blades to the pell." She barked the order as consequence.

The rogue, face red from exhaustion and embarrassment, gathered his daggers and made his way to practice at the bare wood log that stood vertically on supports. It was covered in nicks and speckled with missing chunks, resulting from sharp blades having hacked against it.

After having woken up in bed with Alistair and recalling the shameful events from the night prior, she fled before he woke. The vulgarity of Alistair's treatment of her was humiliating and most disconcerting was her inability to deny that she absolutely loved it. Caoilainn channeled her confusion in the intensity of her commanding the Wardens this morning. The training yard that had been formed in the Warden encampment was busy with activity. Crashing sounds of metal on metal, thuds of arrows on wood, and chants of mages echoed in commotion.

She turned swiftly on her heels to find the next target of her high strung energy. Her gaze quickly landed on Nathaniel, chatting with some new recruits, both women, a few paces away. Caoilainn had met both of these girls briefly at Vigil's Keep when they completed the Joining a few weeks prior. One was a homely-looking, young human girl from a less affluent neighborhood in Amaranthine. The other was also young, maybe 19 year old, elven girl. Her gritty exterior had suggested she was from the Alienage in Denerim but her vallaslin indicated Dalish descent. Caoilainn still wasn't sure she understood how the elf girl ended up with the Grey Wardens.

As Commander, Caoilainn rarely had the opportunity to get to know all of her recruits on a personal level. The Wardens who were driven, those who wanted to pursue more responsibility and prove their worth to the order made sure that Caoilainn noticed. She had few interactions with these two women. But they had both displayed excellence in combat. Particularly, the young elf girl, who was quick with a bow and nimble with small daggers. She was light on her feet.

Caoilainn noticed a ping of jealousy as she saw Nathaniel, charming as he was, talking to the young girls. He smiled at the elf girl, something he rarely did when not on duty. She was tall for an elf, her long red hair was shaved on one side, and her face was covered in an intricate tattoo.

"Hale!" Caoilainn yelled to the woman. She learned the girl's name at her Joining at Vigil's Keep. Hale had been prone to violent outbursts and inappropriate language; Caoilainn had already reprimanded her once before she left for Skyhold.

Hale looked from Nathaniel to Caoilainn with an irritated delay. "Yeah, Commander?" Her respectful tone just barely masked the resistance that lay beneath. Caoilainn picked up on a Denerim accent.

"You are an archer. Are you not?" Caoilainn asked, as if the question had an obvious answer.

Hale's expression looked mildly amused; she was condescendingly entertaining Caoilainn with her attention. "Imma hunter. That count?"

Caoilainn realized the girl was testing her boundaries. It was the worst possible time for the girl to make that choice. A sarcastic smile, bordering on a snarl spread across Caoilainn's face. "It does and this morning, I ordered my archers to practice their speed for the hour." She nodded to the targets for archery practice a few yards behind them as a test of Hale's compliance.

Languidly, Hale turned to look at the targets and back, smirking at Caoilainn. "Right away, Commander," she said with exaggerated enthusiasm and slung her bow on her back. "You comin', Lieutenant?" Hale asked Nathaniel, passively noting that he was also an archer in the process. Nathaniel had been watching this interaction with interest.

His brow creased and his eyes darted to Caoilainn and back to Hale. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Posture straight and frown pulled, Nathaniel walked to Caoilainn as Hale and the other Warden strolled at a leisurely pace to the practice area. Keeping a safe distance from Caoilainn to not draw attention, he asked, "Bad night?"

Although Nathaniel knew that he was not to ask Caoilainn about Alistair or their relationship, he could not resist the opportunity. The sense of satisfaction he would receive knowing that they had a miserable night together was too tempting. As her recollection of the night before took over, she blushed lightly and stared at the ground. The frown deepened on Nathaniel's face. The moment quickly passed; Caoilainn's blushing faded and her authority returned.

"That's none of your business, Nate." Flustered, she replied to his prying. "Do not prey on the junior Wardens."

"Maker," Nathaniel said with sarcastic dismay. He leaned closer so as not to be overheard. "You wouldn't suggest I would shirk my responsibilities as Lieutenant to pursue new bedmates. Would you, Commander?" His sarcasm was filled with undertones that insinuated her own immoralities as his Commander. Caoilainn knew he had other bed partners, Wardens he trusted to keep their interactions private. He found himself curious about her .

Unamused, Caoilainn met his sarcasm with a dead stare. "I would suggest that and I am telling you not to. Besides," she glanced over to the hunter girl, who was now loosing arrows on a target in rapid succession with finesse. "I think that one would be more than willing to slit your throat if she felt the slightest bit wronged by you."

"I know," Nathaniel agreed. Caoilainn detected the tone of excitement and attraction to that very fact in his voice.

Her eyes rolled with annoyance. "I need to have a word with the Inquisition's Commander. Direct training for the day, and don't dillydally."

"Yes, ma'am. I won't let you down." He ended his attempts at lightening her mood and returned to his taciturn demeanor.

"You better not." She crossed her arms.

"If I may speak," he said, keeping his stern face. He stepped closer and turned to face the training army and spoke in a low voice, "I am your best Lieutenant. You know I always follow your orders with exactness and care…," he turned his head to his commander, "unless you don't want me to."

Caoilainn cut him off by raising her hand. "No," she said simply. Her tone was calm, but rigid. "Not here. We are on duty and there are inquisitive ears everywhere."

"Yes, Commander." Nathaniel frowned at Caoilainn's abrupt end to his flirting, then nodded his head respectfully and returned to the practice area.

Caoilainn often thwarted his flirting, even when they were at the Keep, but it was rarely with such rigor. She was Commander and he a lieutenant and therefore was required to present professionally, but they both knew it was an ongoing part of their game. This instance was inconsonant and most irritating to Nathaniel, it was inconvenient. In the past, their game was halted when she returned to the castle or either were on a mission. Being in uniform at the same location and being unable to find creative ways to partake in their dance was a new experience. The addition of her husband didn't help.

In silent observation, Caoilainn watched him walk away. As he reached the practice area, the Hale girl turned to welcome him with a smile. Something about her irritated Caoilainn. She looked young, impulsive, and attractive in a down and dirty sort of way. She was nothing like Caoilainn. What made it worse was that Hale seemed to be unaware of her appeal, instead relying on her skill as a huntress and her crass tongue to draw people near her or to keep them away. Caoilainn noticed sheer jealousy springing within toward the girl. She quickly identified it as irrational, knowing that the Wardens and the Inquisition would benefit from her skill.

* * *

Caoilainn made her way to Cullen's office and burst open the door without knocking. Cullen was standing at his desk and looked up quickly, startled by Caoilainn's brash entrance. The desk was covered in papers cleared around a map.

"Commander, I have a few things to discuss with you about your plan for the Arbor Wilds." Caoilainn stated curtly, authority and judgment apparent in her tone.

Cullen looked confused for a moment, then his face became serious. "Oh… well. These plans are for the decision of the Inquisition Council, Warden Commander. I am afraid I cannot discuss those details with someone who has not received authorization."

"Authorization?" Caoilainn scoffed and continued the conversation while walking toward his desk, as if the concept of authorization was insignificant to her. "I wanted to discuss your scouting team examining the area before we invade…. You are sending out a scouting team aren't you?"

Wondering what her motive was in asking this, Cullen stared at her with a questioning glance. The information was not confidential, however. "Well, yes. Our scouting team has already surveyed the area. They will be destroying evidence of their encampment before we move in for attack."

"Your standard scouting team? Really?" Caoilainn asked as if this information was disappointing. "With the momentousness of this battle, I would have thought you wise enough to send out a special team. A team of scouts with unique abilities, appropriate for the unique circumstances of this battle."

Cullen's eyebrows furrowed. "Well, our scouts are quite skilled, Warden Commander. They have not let us down."

"And can you afford for this to be the time that they do? I have learned some details of this battle. Corypheus and his Lieutenant may be present."

"Yes…" Cullen followed along, his usually tolerant demeanor was growing displeased with what he experienced as Caoilainn's judgment. "And we have a number of allies, including the Orlesians, who will are ready to aid us."

"Of course," Caoilainn replied respectfully, but as if his answer were obvious. "But your scouts, Commander. If your scouts missed something about our enemy, that could doom us all. You remember the last time the Inquisition came in contact with Corypheus. I heard what happened at Haven. We cannot afford that type of destruction again."

Cullen's eyes looked at the floor as he recalled the tragedy at Haven. "Hm," he replied shortly. "I suppose that is valid. What are you proposing?"

"Send me and a group of Wardens," she ordered bluntly. "We have training to see things that even the most trained scout would miss, especially when it comes to darkspawn."

It was clear Cullen was surprised at her recommendation but as he thought it over, it made sense. "I will bring this up with the Inquisition Council at our meeting today. I would recommend you join so that you may elaborate your plan to Alan-" He caught himself before he finished stating Alanna's first name. "The Inquisitor, if she needs it."

Caoiliann nodded. "I will be there."

* * *

She walked to the War Room to attend the Council meeting. Confident, self-assured, and pleased with the progress so far of her strategy to flee from Skyhold. To flee from Alistair, at least temporarily. The pleasure she felt from what happened with him the night prior was indescribable but she had decided that she could not afford to be baffled. She needed to get away from him to figure things, and herself out.

As she strode down the hallway, she could hear voices. The Inquisition Council meeting was already in place, it seemed. The door creaked as she opened it and came to face the group of people talking around the War Table. Her eyes scanned the individuals standing there. Inquisitor Alanna, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana. Caoilainn knew that Leliana was the Inquisition's Spy Master, but had not had the opportunity to reconnect with her since she arrived. Lastly, she saw Alistair, who stared back at her with his usual cocky-grin. He had respected her distance for the day, which had surprised her. Caoilainn had assumed Alistair would hover over her to receive feedback about the night they had. Instead, he had been completely preoccupied in his own responsibilities, and now their paths collided.

"Thank you, Warden Commander for joining us," Cullen stated as she cautiously walked toward the table, taking the empty space next to Alistair but keeping a safe distance from him. "I explained your recommendation to the Inquisitor and the council. We asked the King to weigh in on your recommendation, which will also impact his army. Since he is providing the largest ally we have, it is pertinent that he is included in this meeting."  
 _You mean the ally I provided,_ Caoilainn thought resentfully. She kept her comments to herself and nodded.

Cullen looked to Alistair. "We must also discuss some precautions for your army successfully crossing into Orlais, as well as fighting alongside Orlesian soldiers."

"Of course." Alistair nodded professionally, though he was amused at the irritated thoughts he was sure were going through Caoilainn's head.

"But first," Inquisitor Alanna spoke to Caoilainn. "About your plan to go into the Arbor Wilds with a team of Grey Wardens, I assume you have already selected the Wardens you would like to join you?"

Serious, determined, Caoilainn kept eye contact with Alanna and nodded. She acknowledged anxiety growing within her and she was certain she could feel the weight of Alistair's eyes. Her mouth barely had a chance to open so that she could list the people she had selected to join her on the trip.

Unapologetically, Alistair interrupted. "If I can add my two coppers, I think a Grey Warden scouting team is a brilliant idea." He beamed at Caoilainn before looking back to the council and Alanna.

Surprise, followed by relief washed over Caoilainn. _Thank the Maker. He's giving me space; he's letting me go._

"… and the Warden Commander should not join them."

The sense of relief Caoilainn had experienced vanished and the anxiety returned, now joined by a sense of despair. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked to Alistair .  
He smiled back professionally. "The trip could be dangerous. It would be wiser for a key leader in this crusade to remain with the Inquisition as a whole. Furthermore, if the Warden Commander goes with the small scouting team, who will take charge of the remaining body of Grey Wardens?" He addressed Caoilainn directly. "I would recommend you send one of your lieutenants, Warden Commander. Perhaps your best lieutenant would be the most promising."

Her face instantly flushed as her plan had clearly been foiled and his reference to her best lieutenant was eerie. Alas, Alistair's logic was irrefutable and she knew that. The Inquisitor spoke to Caoilainn again. "What are your thoughts, Warden Commander?"

Slowly, she took a deep breath to process before responding. Using every last ounce of willpower she had left to maintain her calm demeanor, despite Alistair's successful blocking of her strategy. "The King makes valid points that I hadn't considered. I will provide you with a list of the skilled Wardens I recommend. They will be led by my best lieutenant, Nathaniel Howe."

Defeat admitted, yet again, Caoilainn stayed for the remainder of the Inquisition meeting as they discussed the requirements of the Ferelden soldiers behavior on Orlesian soil. She could not help but lose herself in thoughts about how she would inform Nathaniel of this plan and how he would react.


	10. Chapter 10: Crumbling Walls

"Sounds fun," Nathaniel stated nonchalantly after Caoilainn explained his mission to the Arbor Wilds. She had left the meeting and sped frantically to the Warden training yard. Nathaniel was directing the archers in improving the accuracy of their shots until Caoilainn interrupted him and directed him to the Warden Commander's Tent, occupied only by a table and chairs.

"Who am I taking with me and when do we leave?"

Caoilainn was displeased with his agreeableness of the order. The wish to leave with him and escape the hole she had dug for herself was competing with the innate urge to save face against all odds.

Then it all clicked.

She realized she was in a battle with Alistair. A competition of cunning and wit, a challenge of commitment and fortitude, and she was losing dreadfully. And Alistair knew it. Caoilainn Cousland Theirin, the relentless and tenacious Warden Commander and Queen of Ferelden was losing to Alistair. The man she knew to be a clingy, immature push-over was besting her in a battle that depended on strategy. The idea made her head spin.

Since she met him, Alistair had been naïve, agreeable, and remarkably codependent. His ability to decide for himself was hampered, and Caoilainn effortlessly assumed the role of wearing the breeches in the relationship. As the leader of their group during their Blight expedition, it made sense that she was the decision maker. She did not know how it came to be that way, but she adapted gracefully. When it ended, Alistair didn't seem to change. He relied on advisors to help him with his obligations as King while she rebuilt the Grey Wardens and yet he still wrote her letters asking for advice. And when she returned to rule by his side, the old patterns continued. Yet, as King, he got all the credit for ruling. She existed simply as Alistair's Queen, the beautiful Hero of Ferelden. For a year, she tried to settle into her role as co-leader but it was impossible. The grief of losing her family returned, and she withdrew from Alistair. There was no way to stay busy enough to avoid that sadness. She imagined having a child would occupy her time and give her a sense of purpose, yet a child was not a viable option for them.

Images of the young, boyish Alistair flashed before her and contrasted against the stern, tactful Alistair she met yesterday. Anxious thoughts clouded her mind.

Nathaniel's voice seemed to echo in her ears as nausea, light-headedness, and the pounding of her heart distracted Caoilainn. The world around her swayed, and suddenly it all went black.

"Breathe, Caoilainn!" She heard Nathaniel's voice in the distance. "Yes. Come on, sit. Just breathe." His words became more coherent as she realized she was in his arms. She had fainted. He held her in a cautious embrace. _Ugh,_ she thought in annoyance. _How embarrassing._

"Nate…" Caoilainn took a deep inhale, pushed away from him, and sat in a chair. Frustration and disappointment resonated in her tone.

"What's come over you?" Nathaniel asked softly with concern. "Is it Alistair?"

Caoilainn sighed and relaxed in the seat, her head resting on the back. "Rules, Nate." She said curtly, reminding him of their agreements. Despite her exhaustion, she sat like a queen. A thoroughly vexed and impatient one, but a queen nonetheless. In all the years she spent running away from Alistair, her aptitude to lead never wavered. It annoyed the shit out of him, in all the right ways. Nathaniel consistently disregarded the ruling aptitude she emitted.

"Fuck your rules, Caoilainn." He retorted as he squatted down to see her at eye level, frustration and caring apparent in his action and words. "You've never done that before. Tell me what's going on."

Caoilainn sighed again and looked him in the eyes. "I don't know, Nate. It's nothing. Just let it go."

"You are so…" Nathaniel growled in anger, "stubborn." His last remark was made with a sigh as he admitted defeat. He would not win this one. Reserved did not begin to explain Caoilainn. He knew her better than anyone, save for Alistair, and yet he still couldn't figure her out sometimes. A general state of stubborn proved to be her most constant feature.

"It's a gift and a curse," she mused weakly. "And it makes me a good commander. Your Commander, in fact." The authority was returning to her tone.

Annoyed but curious, he entertained it. "My time is yours, Commander."

The respectful reply soothed her ego and swelled her pride. She sat up straighter. "Your mission to the Wilds will depart tonight. It will require you to be on your best behavior as you will represent me as your Commander and the Grey Wardens as a contributing force to the Inquisition."

"Yes, ma'am." Nathaniel smiled. He knew she liked it when he was obedient and considering the level of stress she seemed to be under, he figured he could give her that much. Though he could not visibly see her reaction, he could feel the energy shift between them.

She crossed her leather clad legs and continued giving him orders. The leather of her boots, which laced up her calves, shimmered in the minor lighting in the tent and gave evidence of regular polishing. "You will lead a small stealth team of ten. I want Senior Wardens on this. Light armor. Archers. Light weapons. A few mages." She wrote a list of names and handed it to him.

Nathaniel took the list and reviewed. His brow furrowed, and an eyebrow raised in question. "Commander, there are only 9 people on this list."

Caoilainn's face remained non-expressive. "Your last addition will be a Junior Warden. She has shown promise and I believe that if she can hone her abilities and channel her anger, she will be an incredible Warden."

Her rough exterior and rigid attitude did not prevent Caoilainn from searching for the promise of Junior Wardens. Caoilainn was known for picking out unique individuals and challenging them by assigning them to missions with more experienced soldiers. Her attention showed caring and investment in her Wardens.

Nathaniel waited for Caoilainn to finish her statement with a tentative and questioning stare.

"Hale will join you," Caoilainn added judiciously. "She's rebellious and unruly and I know she will test her boundaries. But I see potential; she needs a challenge and practice."

Nathaniel's eyebrows raised in surprise and he grinned playfully. "I can make sure she gets plenty of practice."

"Best behavior, Nate. This is included," Caoilainn admonished.

Dating within the Grey Wardens was discouraged, but ultimately inevitable. An effort to make it completely illicit would be met with backlash and accusations of hypocrisy since her and Alistair had been the last two Grey Wardens before she revived them. Her own internal guilt for the fling with Nathaniel also contributed to her decision to discourage but permit the relationships within the ranks. Since Caoilainn had taken the position as Commander, the Grey Wardens were far more diverse among races and genders. At some points, there were even more female Wardens than males. It all depended on who the recruiters brought back for her and who survived the Joining. Rules surrounding interactions between members had to be formed, addressed, and changed regularly. Because of power dynamics and influence, a lieutenant sleeping with a Junior Warden would not be allowed. Conveniently, the Warden Commander sleeping with a lieutenant was permissible in her eyes.

"Commander, you know I follow your orders with same the precision that I shoot."

Caoilainn laughed. "Well, don't fuck up."

"I'll do my best." He responded with a grin as he sat on his haunches in front of her. Something seemed more genuine about his playfulness. It was lacking its usual bite. She wasn't sure if she liked it. "Will I see you again before I leave?"

The question was casual, but it startled Caoilainn. The inquiry was so ingratiating and uncharacteristic for Nathaniel that it provoked an image to flash in her mind. She was unnerved, empowered and stimulated by the quick thought of Nathaniel prostrating himself before her. The desire to see Nathaniel in a humiliating position, groveling and kissing her feet with delicate subservience brought a brief smile to her face. She tamed the sinful urge to pursue the scenario the best way she knew how.

"No." Her reply was cold, firm and completely disinterested in his attention.

The energy between them changed again. Her wall was raised; Nathaniel could tell and it wasn't unexpected. At this point in their relationship, or whatever it was, he did not take her guardedness personally. That did not stop it from being abhorrently irksome. "In that case, I wish you pleasant battles." Exaggerated affection coated his reply as he stood up from his crouched position.

Powerful and unfazed, Caoilainn stared up at him. She knew her intractability irritated Nathaniel, especially now since he seemed to be making some half-assed attempt at a sweet goodbye. "And you, Lieutenant." Condescension seethed through her tone; she offered no other words.

Nathaniel took this as initiative to up his ante. "Don't miss me too much, Commander. I know I'm your most useful Warden," he said through an obnoxious smirk.

In a blatant and deliberate measure of his worth to her, Caoilainn's eyes scanned Nathaniel up and down. "You are useful, that's true," she said with mild disregard. As if it was a passing thought that required no more concern than what she would eat for breakfast.

 _Ooh, woman. Try me,_ Nathaniel thought. With effort, he reined his irritation and bowed his head.  
"Should this be the last time I see you, it has been an honor to serve you, your Majesty Commander." The title would piss her off; he relied on it.

Eyes narrowed, Caoilainn lips pursed tightly. Without words, she nodded stiffly for him to leave.  
Grinning at his successful annoyance of her, Nathaniel turned to walk away. He took one step and counted down silently, knowingly: _three… two... one._

"I look forward to receiving your report when we return to Vigil's Keep," she called to him as he departed.

 _I bet you do,_ he thought and turned to wink at Caoilainn before leaving the Commander's Tent.

* * *

In solitude, Caoilainn sat to breathe. Soaking in the quiet of the inside of the tent, she allowed the static noise of voices and training occurring actively outside to fade in the distance. She was left alone with her thoughts and the sobering reality of the situation with Alistair came back to the forefront of her mind now that the distraction of Nathaniel was not present. Her hand lifted to meet her eyes; her thumb and middle finger pressed against her temples.

She remained in this posture silently. Her emotions, the overwhelming grief, despair, and powerlessness she had been running from washed over her. Caoilainn's body quaked. She shook violently as tears quietly poured from her eyes. A sudden gasp for air was followed by a wail. She felt the sorrow, frustration, and confusion throughout her body, rattling her to the core.

And then it was over. She took a few deep breaths and wiped her eyes. The silence of the tent rang in her ears.  
A voice called from the outside entrance. "Warden Commander?"

Caoilainn closed her eyes to lessen her frustration, hoping that whoever was outside of the Commander's Tent had not heard her a moment ago. "Yes? Enter."

An Inquisition messenger timidly entered her tent and rushed to explain. "Um. A message from Morrigan, ma'am. She said that she would like to speak with you before the departure for battle."

"Thank you. I'll find her right away," Caoilainn answered.

The messenger quickly departed and rushed back to the fortress of Skyhold. Joy, curiosity, and trepidation stirred within Caoilainn from this news. Curiosity won out over them all. She took a few more deep breaths until she felt the redness subside from her face and went to find Morrigan in the Skyhold Garden.

* * *

"Caoilainn," Morrigan greeted her as she walked toward the pagoda where Morrigan was standing. Kieran was nowhere in sight.

"Morrigan…," Caoilainn reciprocated the greeting expectantly; her voice tinged with inquiry.

"I have not found a cure for you." Morrigan got to the point. The news was not pleasant, but Caoilainn appreciated the directness of the conversation. "On the mission tomorrow, I will be with the Inquisitor on her campaign. The opportunity for me to research your request may present itself due to the destination of this quest and the unique circumstances it offers."

"Oh? Care to go into any more detail or do you prefer to remain vague and mysterious?"

"I wish I could, but I cannot," Morrigan's reply was cautious but there was excitement in her communication. Knowing Morrigan well, Caoilainn suspected there was something in this quest for her personally as well as the Inquisition.

Caoilainn questioned if this news was the only reason Morrigan summoned her and if so, how to stay her annoyance with that fact. She did not reply as she waited.

"I found in my reading so far that it might be possible for two Wardens to reproduce without magic," Morrigan explained.

"So technical, Morrigan. Tell me more."

"''Tis true both of you have low… fertility." She struggled to find the words. "But it means neither of you are necessarily completely barren."

Caoilainn was bothered by the message she was getting from Morrigan's line of communication. "What are you saying?"

Morrigan stood silently for a moment. Her brow wrinkled apologetically. "Well, there is a chance you could have a child with Alistair by natural means with persistence."

"Hah!" Caoilainn laughed sarcastically at the ridiculousness of Morrigan's suggestion. "Believe me Morrigan, we tried. A lot." Memories of the time her and Alistair spent trying to conceive appeared in her mind. "When I returned to the castle, it was daily. Multiple times per day, sometimes. We tried tonics, herbs, and positions we heard were more effective; I'll spare you the details. We spoke to midwives and healers. He called for the most renowned fertility mages in Thedas. It became work. And we couldn't stand each other by the end of it. Or rather, I couldn't stand him."

What frustrated her the most was that Alistair never seemed troubled by their inability to conceive. He knew that she wanted a child, and so he did everything he could to make it happen. Ultimately, all of Alistair's love and support was futile and that filled her with resentment.

Morrigan witnessed her vulnerability with awe. She could see Caoilainn's frustration. Her sadness. She recognized it because she knew the joy having a child brought her. A mixture of guilt and gratitude conflicted within her. "Thank you, Caoilainn and I'm sorry."

"What?" Caoilainn asked.

"Kieran has changed my life. He has changed me." Morrigan looked in the distance as if she could see Kieran though he did not seem to be in the garden. "I owe you and Alistair for that."

Cheeks flushed, Caoilainn looked away and stared hard at the ground. In disbelief, Morrigan thought she saw tears swelling in Caoilainn's eyes. It was a glimpse of the emotional young girl she met over ten years prior; the girl once desperately in love with Alistair.

Caoilainn's hand rose to rub her eyes with her fingers as she took a deep breath. "I'm glad." The statement was true, even though Caoilainn's heart was pierced with the sharpest pang of jealousy she had ever experienced. "We owe you and Kieran gratitude for our lives."

"Mm." She murmured in passive agreement. The energy between them was as intimate as either woman could allow and it spoke volumes of their friendship. "I did not realize the extent of your efforts for this child, Caoilainn. Had I known, I would have saved news for when I had more to offer. I will tell you what I find when we return to Skyhold, my friend."

* * *

The conversation with Morrigan concluded and Caoilainn wandered through Skyhold with a distant goal of returning to her room near the tavern. She was overwhelmed remembering the turmoil that was the attempt to have a child, the failure of her plan to get away from Alistair, her meltdown earlier all drained her deeply.

Caoilainn was notorious for being a strong, bullheaded fighter and here she felt powerless, helpless in the face of the feelings that were storming within.

The door clicked as she opened it and her heart sank when she saw him standing in the room, armored, moving his sheathed sword to join his other belongings for the night. Alistair looked to her, his expression compassionate as if he could see the pain written all over her. "Caoilainn…" he said gently.

Despite her attempt to re-center her energy and reclaim her inner-strength, hearing that tone from Alistair was infuriating. The emotions she had been attempting to bottle for the day could no longer be contained.

"Why are you doing this!?" She yelled.

Alistair's softness faded and was replaced by curiosity. She was unable to discern if he was sarcastic or genuine. "Why am I doing what, my dear?"

"Ugh!" She growled in exasperation. "What do you want from me, Alistair!? I am here trying to find a cure for the Calling so I can have your child. Can't you let me do that in peace!?" Despite all her questions, she continued to rant without waiting for answers. "How on earth do you think I can do that when you are constantly getting in my way? What the fuck has come-"

"Stop," he interrupting, his voice dominant and booming.

Stunned, Caoilainn stopped midsentence and replied with a blank stare.

"Sit down," he ordered, finding no need to address her questions or their inconsistencies.

Without her control, Caoilainn's feet carried her to the bed, and she sat down. She was aware that she needed to sit, to fall apart, and exhale the weight she had been carrying all day. Alistair's order, though unexpected and uncomfortable, gave her permission to do so. Once she settled, her shoulder's slumped pathetically. She whined. "You are driving me-"

"No," his voice rang directly. "You will not speak to me like that." Alistair stood facing her from across the room.

"But…" her whining continued as if enough of it could make Alistair understand that her plight was his fault.

"I will be spoken to with respect." His order was definite. There was no debate or question.

At a loss for words, Caoilainn gave a feeble nod and her brow furrowed pitifully in confusion. She tried to ignore the tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "Alistair…," she murmured disconsolately. "I need to be alone."

He gave a knowing nod and a wise smile as if he understood her logic. "My love," his voice was soothing no matter how much she tried to resist it or how it infuriated her. "I have left you alone for the last five years. More if you count how much space I gave when you came back to the castle. And we are no better for it. I am not going anywhere."

Caoilainn's lips formed an indignant frown. She knew he was right, but she could not admit it. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and a few lone tears streamed down. Alistair observed her; he saw the suffering that consumed her and though he fiercely wanted to help, she wasn't ready to accept it from him.

"I don't know what to do with you," she admitted in a muffled whimper.

"Would you be surprised if I told you that you don't have to do anything?" His words were said through a loving smirk. "You are not my Commander, my love. Let me help you."

"You don't know how," she looked up to him with a fierce, tear soaked glare. "You never did. I don't even know what I need anymore."

They locked eyes for a few long seconds. He watched her adoringly, understanding the helplessness that she felt, and knowing she believed what she said to be true. Caoilainn stared back at him with pitiful obstinacy, making every attempt to resist his love for fear of disappointment.

"'We stay together, no matter what happens.' Do you remember telling me that?" Alistair questioned calmly, ignoring the inaccuracy of the accusations in her previous reply.

Her ferocity faded; she stared at him with heavy sadness and a longing nostalgia. "I do…" her lip quivered. "And you left me. You left me at Vigil's Keep completely alone. I was terrified."

After the Blight, though they both knew it was temporary, Alistair had left her to command and rebuild the Grey Wardens on her own because he was King. She was strong and capable, stubborn and devoted. They both knew she would succeed. But as the adrenaline of killing the Archdemon wore off, the loss of her family sank in. What she perceived as Alistair's abandonment of her at the Keep was all too familiar and so she dove into command with such fervor and resentment, just as she had in becoming a Grey Warden.

Her quiet whimpering broke into a shaking sob. Alistair was shocked; Caoilainn had never opened up about this before, nor had he observed her weep so movingly since they tried for the baby. A few long strides across the room brought him to stand before her at the bed. He gently stroked her hair in an effort to soothe her pain. Muscle memory prompted her body to respond; Caoilainn reached her arms around his armored waist and hugged him as she wept into his stomach.

"Caoilainn," he cooed, sweetly allaying this newly discovered layer of her grief. The magnitude of the bereavement of trust between them was met with his undisturbed clarity. "I didn't want to leave you there. Please believe me when I say that. I saw no other way. I love you, Caoilainn. Always." He patiently reminded her, valuing this moment with uncompromising stability. Fully aware that her openness was temporary and her wall would return, Alistair trusted that it was crumbling.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 11: Family

Alanna was given little training for the position she gained as Inquisitor. Her history as First to the Keeper of the Lavellan clan taught her nothing on how to organize this movement that had been placed in her hand. A devout believer in the Elven gods, with little knowledge of Andrastian faith, the title of Herald of Andraste had been uncomfortable, to say the least. And the elevation to Inquisitor was met with even more expectations and pressure. Her council, thank Mythal, was gods sent. The council members had aided her in this movement, every step of the way and together, they made an exceptional team. Alanna's own resourcefulness and ability to remain calm had been effective. It allowed her to adapt to the demands of the role. She was often in awe at her ability to remain calm, despite the loss of memory as to how she got there. Fortunately, missing pieces of the events that preceded her initial arrival at the Breach had recently been revealed. This proved to be advantageous to her ability to lead.

She shared this gratitude with the council members, offering a lingering glance to her Commander. Reportedly, there was something among the elven ruins of the Wilds and the Inquisition determined it necessary to reach it before the enemy, Corypheus. After giving an order to Josephine to summon the eleven Grey Wardens who would precede the Inquisition scouts' quest to the Arbor Wilds, she waited in the War Room with her council.

Alanna had concerns about the Warden Commander, Caoilainn. It was becoming more clear that there was a miscommunication between her and her husband, the King. And insightful as Alanna was, there was something she strongly disliked about the woman, though she could not identify the cause. Although she did not completely trust the Warden Commander, Alanna and her council concluded that the assistance of soldiers was too valuable to disregard. The possibility of Caoilainn's ulterior motives, were there any, would be addressed when the time came. Until then, the Inquisition had to adhere to its responsibilities of weakening their enemy and now, preventing his advancement to the ruins.

The Inquisition's last contact with Corypheus was met with destruction. It was a bleak scene at their previous stronghold in Haven and the tragedy of its fall still scarred the minds of those who survived. Alanna agreed that any steps that could prevent any loss of life must be taken and so the offer of the Warden scouting team was welcome.

* * *

That afternoon, the door to the War Room swung open and a line of Grey Wardens filed in, led by Josephine, followed by Nathaniel. She bowed to the Inquisitor and joined the rest of the council behind the table. Warden scouts formed a row behind Nathaniel as Nathaniel stepped forward to greet the Inquisitor.

Tall and lean, and utterly cocky, Nathaniel looked to the small elven woman standing before him. She was fierce in her own right; strong willed, but calm. The other Wardens behind him remaining silent while the Warden Lieutenant approached the Inquisitor. Nathaniel's fist rose to his chest, and he bowed with a smile. "Inquisitor."

"Warden," Alanna returned the greeting with a nod. Her eyes studied the rest of the Wardens, scanning each one down the line, until she reached someone near the end. Alanna's frown deepened, and her eyes squinted.

Nathaniel's eyebrows raised, unsure what provoked the displeasure. His eyes followed the path of hers to find them locked on Hale. The woman smirked back at the Inquisitor.

The heavy silence in the roomed loomed as the two women stared at each other.

"I take it you two have met?" Nathaniel asked awkwardly, the only one willing to break the silence. It was clear the two women had some history together.

"You could say that," Alanna stated coolly to Nathaniel without breaking eye contact with Hale. "Come forward, Warden."

Though confused and uncomfortable with the woman giving orders to Wardens in his charge, he saw no way to argue. It didn't matter; Hale followed Alanna's demand without seeking Nathaniel's permission. The young Warden stepped forward and stood across the table from the Inquisitor. Nathaniel followed to stand at her side.

Ignoring the addition of the lieutenant, eyes still fixed on Hale, Alanna lowered her voice and leaned closer. "We've wondered where you've been, _cousin_."

Eyebrows raising again in surprise, Nathaniel studied the energy between the women with a new understanding but did not interrupt. Now that this piece had been added, he could see the relation in their faces, despite the drastic differences in their appearance. Alanna had golden blonde hair that was cropped short; her skin was fair and her body petite, a narrow waist cascaded exquisitely curvy hips. Standing opposite, Hale towered over Alanna; tall and tan, especially for an Elf, she had long dark red hair that was shaved on the side. Her intense green eyes challenged the light blue pools of Alanna's gaze.

It seemed none of the Wardens standing at attention in the back of the room overheard.

Hale shrugged casually. It appeared as though she was entertained by this reunion. Alanna clearly was not. "I've been… adventuring. You know I always come back."

"And this time as a Grey Warden, no less. How in the name of Mythal did that happen?" Her hands moved to her hips, Alanna pried with her question.

"Right of Conscription. It was this or jail." Hale replied with another shrug as if the answer were irrelevant. Glancing beside her to Nathaniel, Hale winked. "Stealing."

Nathaniel smirked. Apparently, the young woman was proud of her illegal activity and potential jail time. In acceptance of the handful she would undoubtedly be on this quest, he snorted. _What am I getting myself into?_

Alanna shook her head and slumped her shoulders in disappointment. "Hale'Harel… when will you learn? Ma'elithast'eth sal'shiral ha'lam." [You must be safe or your journey will come to an end.]

The motherly energy that sprang forth from Alanna was undeniable as she spoke to her younger cousin with love and care. He did not need to understand a word of what she was saying to hear it. Though he had heard elven before, he was fascinated with Alanna's use of the language, reminiscent of singing, melodious and smooth like honey.

Until Hale made a loud groan and muttered audibly under her breath, "Pox on it. Just use the common tongue." She stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact with Alanna. Though his reverie was disrupted, he couldn't help but chuckle at Hale's response. This mumbling and resentful looking elf did not match the violent woman he had been given reports of from Vigil's Keep.

With a measured breath, Alanna nodded dismissively to Hale.

Nathaniel recognizing the acceptance of defeat on the Inquisitors part. _Hale will do what she wants._ In the short time he had known her, he understood the independent trait in the young woman. He quickly attributed it to her estrangement from her cousin.

Alanna glared hard at Hale for a moment longer before shifting her stern gaze to Nathaniel. The last remnants of his smirk vanished. He felt her critical stare. "Warden Lieutenant Nathaniel Howe," she began and Nathaniel stood up straighter. "You will lead your small group of Wardens to search the area before our scouts."

"So I've been told." Nathaniel responded, in as professional a tone he could manage.

Alanna's eyes squinted at Nathaniel before she turned to nod at Commander Rutherford. Cullen stepped forward and gestured to markers on the map. "You will travel directly here, hitch your horses, and travel by foot to the temple. You are to give us a report on the enemy activity. We want to know numbers, approximations, any word on our enemy at large. We will reconvene with you here," Cullen pointed to a marker at the Emerald graves, "before our troops advance. Is this clear?"

Nathaniel nodded, and the group continued discussing the details of this expedition. Cullen explained the route the Wardens would take and the location of the Inquisition scouts current station. Their entire mission was to be accomplished, with the Wardens back at the scouting camp at the Emerald Graves in two weeks, including travel time. It was an ambitious goal.

Nathaniel nodded. "We're ready to go when you give us the order."

"We've packed horses for you. You will depart within the hour," Alanna added to conclude the meeting.

Respectfully, Nathaniel put his fist to his chest and bowed to the Inquisitor and her council members. The group was silent as he spun on heels and ushered the rest of the Grey Warden team to leave the room with a wave of his hand. They marched out with Nate at the end of the line.

"Lieutenant," Alanna's voice rang through the room as he neared the door. He froze mid-step and turned back around to Alanna. The other Grey Wardens had already left the room.

"Yes, Inquisitor?" He replied, offering a cautious yet kind smile.

"I trust that my dear, sweet cousin will be cared for under your supervision as lieutenant." The statement clearly had numerous layers, all of which communicated Alanna's displeasure with the circumstances of her cousin as a Grey Warden in Nathaniel's charge.

Nathaniel had only met Hale earlier that day when they were training in the yard. He liked that she had spunk, and a mouth like a sailor. The news of her violence at the Keep prior to her Joining, in addition to Caoilainn's warnings had at first been amusing. But now discovering that she was the Inquisitor's cousin, made the task of training her on this mission somewhat daunting. The likelihood she would be more rebellious than he bargained for was apparent. And if he was honest with himself that was moderately intriguing. Regardless of these mixed emotions, he was resistant to the Inquisitors subtle threat. "Respectfully, Inquisitor, the young lady is a Warden now. She'll be treated with the same care I treat all Wardens in my charge. If harm comes to her, it won't be from my hand, but from serving the oath she made when she became a Grey Warden." _Really, Nate. What the fuck are you getting yourself into?_ He scolded himself, not seeing that Hale was beaming from the doorway.

The Inquisitor was momentarily stunned by the lieutenant's assertiveness but she took a deep breath, maintaining her calm demeanor. Emotions stirred within her, fear for her cousin, more distrust of the Grey Wardens and now Nathaniel added to that list. Her eyes narrowed and she nodded again, permitting Nathaniel to leave the room.

* * *

The Grey Wardens, led by Nathaniel, mounted their horses and began their journey from Skyhold to the Arbor Wilds. The crags and ledges of the mountains required special maneuvering on horseback for the safety of the riders and the horses. All members of the party were preoccupied with the attention required to navigate. Nathaniel noticed that as the distance between them and Skyhold grew, their small party felt especially unprepared. They had no inkling what they would find in the Arbor Wilds, save for some of Corypheus' soldiers and an old Elven temple.

Periodically, Nathaniel scanned the group to see if anyone was falling behind, losing focus or challenged by the terrain. The time they spent through the mountains was laboring on their bodies and the horses. But all seemed to be diligently patient, soothing their horses, and occasionally jesting or conversing with each other when they came to places that required slow movement. Silence fell upon the group each time they came upon areas that required precision handling. Keeping to herself at the back of the group, Hale's excitement overrode any fear that might have been buzzing at the back of her mind. Something was odd about this young woman, Nathaniel sensed as he scanned her. Despite her young age, she was skilled with reigns and needed no support from Senior Wardens in navigating the rocky slopes. It was as though once she was out of the fortress of Skyhold, her demeanor had changed, but he could not pinpoint what was different.

The group was composed of two mages, both human. The other eight members of the Wardens, not including Nathaniel, consisted of human and Elven archers and blade-wielders. There was one Dwarven man with a large axe. As a fellow scout, he had worked with them all aside from Hale before. There was an even divide of men and women, Nathaniel splitting the difference, and Hale was the youngest one there by a significant age gap.

They navigated the mountainous terrain of the Frostbacks, slowly guiding their horses through the mountain pass until they reached the tree line. The trip through the mountains took most of the night and well into the next morning. When they made it to smoother land, the group sped up. The group rode silently through the foothills of the Frostback Mountains, moving too quickly and with too much focus for conversation. And as night fell, the temperature dropped drastically. A cold breeze traveling from the west met them. Nathaniel raised his arm signalling to stop and halted his horse. As they slowed behind him, he dismounted.

"We've made good time. Let's set up camp," he directed.

The small pack of Grey Wardens set up camp in the lightly forested land, far from any city. Fortunately, food and provisions had been packed with the horses by the Inquisition. Each person was equipped with their own weapons and packs.

As they settled around the campfire, Nathaniel decided who would take watch in which shifts and what time the next morning they would depart. He placed himself on first watch.

The Wardens divided to eat their meals. The Dwarven man was talking jovially to one of the other elven archers. Sitting on a log near the campfire, the mages stayed near each other and silently ate their meals. Other Wardens played dice, betting on who would lose and who would play winner.

Except for Hale. She kept her bow and quiver on hand, watching the gambling with detached intrigue, removed from the social circles that had comfortably formed. Tempted to join the game, she observed as the stakes rose. Hale was adept at betting, determining her odds quickly and knowing when to fold. She was also not unfamiliar with being the odd one out and knowing when she wasn't welcome. Her behavior at Vigil's Keep had not won her many allies, save for a few of the other new recruits who had also wound up there by the Right of Conscription.

Nathaniel monitored the Wardens objectively as they wound down before splitting off for shifts on watch. As he scanned the group, his gaze lingered on Hale. She observed the encampment with a similar ambivalence. Hale must have felt the curious weight of his eyes upon her because her piercing gaze moved to meet his. With a quick grin, she raised her eyebrow and nodded to Nathaniel, then disappeared into her tent.


	12. Chapter 12: Bond of Blood

Alistair observed the small specks of dust floating in the sunlight the next morning as he rested in the bed at Skyhold. But this time he was not alone. He savored the moment with Caoilainn as she curled up under his arm, finally sound asleep. Deeply touched by the vulnerability she showed in what she admitted, and then as she cried herself to sleep, he was appreciative. He saw that her resentment ran deep, and he knew he was not responsible. None of his actions meant to harm her, and she would realize that with time. The clarity he gained for himself and the woman he loved came with their time apart, time alone.

Caoilainn did not realize that her connection to the Grey Wardens, her constant link to them, and them to each other, through the Taint in their blood was something he had learned to live without. It was a part of him he had to grieve the loss of when he left her at Vigil's Keep. The loneliness caused by the sudden absence of the hum of the union that became so vital to his life once he completed his Joining was devastating. He rejoiced when she returned to the castle. Willing to pretend he didn't know about her affair, contented by the reunion with the familiar spark of the Grey Warden connection, Alistair thought he would regain that part. And he did, at first. It was all he could ask for, and when they failed miserably to have a child and her depression worsened, she took it away. Again, he was alone.

 _'Blood of my blood,'_ she called her Wardens. Caoilainn seemed to forget that he too shared that bond of blood, long before she was the _Mother_ _of Griffons_.

The anger he felt toward Caoilainn when she left the castle did not subside for years. His anger grew to rage, and collapsed into despair, sorrow, and pain. Losing his wife, and his last connection to the Grey Wardens when she disappeared into the night. And he knew exactly where she went as soon as he realized she was missing. Vigil's Keep was her sanctum and once there, she would be unreachable. It was heartbreaking to discover he could not meet the needs she had filled as commander, and to be deserted yet again as a Grey Warden.

None of his advisors speak of the time after Caoilainn disappeared from the castle. The King's outbursts and fits of violence, often at the influence of alcohol, were numerous. There were also days at a time when he didn't leave his room. But at some point, he shifted. He stopped drinking, upheld his responsibilities as King by attending meetings, permitting audiences, signing treaties, and he returned to his combat training. Over time, the pain of losing Caoilainn faded. Or more specifically, it morphed into impetus. He took care of himself, made his own decisions, and stopped writing to her, accepting that he would not receive a reply. He kept his scouts at Vigil's Keep and gathered information about her. But what had been an obsession, an attempt to control the unruly woman, became a chance to learn about her.

And that was not his priority. It was merely a factor of a whole and he refused to lose himself again to her indifference. The new outlook developed as he hardened in his grief. He would no longer be stepped on, walked all over by his advisors or his wife. He would no longer be a pawn. Rather than resent her for his callousness, he was grateful to Caoilainn. Her leaving, his disconnection from the Grey Warden blood tie, it all empowered him. He became the king he wanted to be, not who he was told to be. It was liberating. The castle and kingdom was required to adapt as he held his ground, changing policies and no longer acting on the whim of others. He was consistent. The only person left to experience the new version of him was Caoilainn.

Despite her selfishness and her immaturity masked as a bullheaded and gorgeous queen who always got her way, he loved her fiercely. Unsure of his belief in soulmates, his need for her in his life was irrefutable. She was his mirror. Without her, he would not know where he needed to improve. Caoilainn challenged him, his patience, his commitment, his love, and he needed that.

He maintained unsettling clarity of this fact, and it founded his stability. When she was ready, he would tell her about what happened when she left and what he came to understand of himself. But for now his goal was to break through the walls she established, fortified, and strengthened. Because those walls were thick and reinforced, he knew of the requirement of his self-control and persistence. Alistair welcomed the challenge.

* * *

She stirred under his arm, blinked and looked up to him, embarrassed. Her eyes were puffy from a night of crying and dark circles showed the poor quality of rest she received. The best of her sleep being in the last few hours before daybreak. With a groan, Caoilainn laid on her back, looking up to the ceiling. Her mind a mixture of thoughts, confusion, fear of what Alistair would expect of her now that she had opened up to him. Distressed with this idea and angry with herself for allowing its potential, she closed her eyes in hopes it would go away.

"We have a meeting with the Inquisitor and her council today," he said calmly, professionally. She heard the vigilance in his tone.

"I need a bath," she replied, not directly responding to his comment but identifying what she desired before that could happen.

"Ah yes. Preferably with bubbles and a glass of wine?" He joked at her request, remembering her favorite way to unwind in the castle.

"If only," she laughed lightly, longingly. "I suppose a bucket of water and a cloth will have to do." She rose from the bed, her lean form visible under her chemise as the light shone on her; gooseflesh appeared on her exposed arms and legs as it met the cold air. When she reached the sink, she brought the cold water to her face, several times. She was grateful for the coolness soothing the puffiness of her eyes and awaking her nerves.

"I'll just lay here and watch," Alistair sat up on the bed and leaned against the headboard. His hands came to rest behind his head. He was in his small clothes. The defined muscles of his bare arms, chest and stomach were obvious.

Caoilainn turned to look at him, mildly annoyed but mostly amused. Pleased with what she saw, her attempt to stifle her smile failed. "Don't you have King things to do?"

"They can wait," he shrugged with a grin.

The attractiveness of the half-naked man lying on her bed was indisputable, and that confounded her. "Well your little peep show will have to wait. I have to get to the training yard and direct my Wardens since I'm short a lieutenant." Testing the tension between them, she was curious of how he would react to her words.

He was silent as he stared at her with a smile that she couldn't read. Unable to define if it was sarcastic, annoyed, or genuine, her heart fluttered.

Then Alistair rose from the bed. Her stomach tightened. _Is this fear? Excitement? What the fuck is he doing?_

With slow steps, and unflinching eye contact, he came to her. She stood frozen, and he stood close. Her head tilted back as she looked up to him, regaining control, her arm pressed lightly against his muscled chest. Her voice a plea for space, "Alist…."

He didn't let her finish. His large hand weaved through her hair and his head bowed to meet hers. His kiss, forceful and passionate, screamed of a merciless love. It staggered her, and she welcomed it, devoured it, without inhibition. When it was over she was still, overcome. He gave a smile, kissed her forehead, and walked to his belongings on the other end of the room.

A blank stare, startled by her own pleasure, she watched studiously as Alistair dressed, part of her still waiting for his response to her plans for the day. When he was fully clothed, he walked to the door and turned to look at her. Grinning, but undoubtedly serious, he informed: "You'll give me that show tonight, my love."

Her stomach danced with elation and she nodded dumbfounded. "...Yes, my King." The words fell out of her mouth on their own accord. Caoilainn's hands covered her lips in response to the shock of what she just said.

His smile widened, and he bowed his head before he left the room.

* * *

Flabbergasted, excited, Caoilainn recovered from the interaction and dressed. She went to the Grey Warden training yard to direct the Wardens and prepare them for the departure for the Arbor Wilds that would occur in the next few days. Orders given to other lieutenants to lead training, and herself directing the warriors. She practiced with her longsword and dagger. Previously Duncan's longsword and dagger. It was something she rarely got the chance to do, but her years spent battling darkspawn and acting as commander proved effective. Her skill with her blades had not diminished.

But today, her mind kept wandering back to Alistair. Back to their communication that morning, the smile he gave as he watched her at the sink, his kiss. Her stomach continued to flutter anxiously as she thought of what he might require of her that night. It was irritating. The interfering thoughts caused her to miss numerous opportunities to parry as she practiced. It required overwhelming effort to block the thoughts and focus on her training. Disappointed with her performance, she spoke with another officer of the Wardens and gave orders to continue without her. She made her way into Skyhold for the meeting with the Inquisitor, aware of the terribly inconvenient distraction Alistair would be. Part of her was giddy. Another loathed the experience she expected and the personal weakness she saw within herself.

* * *

Just before dawn, the Grey Wardens rose and packed their camp. The night passed with no threats from any bandits, animals, or other enemy. Silent and diligent, the group broke down the camp and loaded their horses without needing orders from Nathaniel. When they finished, Nathaniel called the group to a circle.

"Wardens, we're making good time. Keep it up. The earlier we can get there, the more time we have to survey the area for risks. We must be cautious and thorough. Our archer, Isenam," he gestured to one of the Elven archers in their party, "will help us navigate the Arbor Wilds." The archer nodded his head in a respectful reply. "We are a safeguard to the Inquisition and we have an advantage with our skills as scouts. And some of us," he looked at Hale with authority and she shifted her weight onto her left leg. "Have the opportunity to learn more about how Grey Wardens do things." He took a deep breath and scanned the members' reactions. All looked ready, determined as Grey Wardens should. Then he raised his fist to his chest and met their eyes. "The motto," he directed.

The group sang their motto together, united by their bond and the depth of their words. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."

"Let's ride!" Nathaniel called as they separated and went to their mounts.

* * *

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	13. Chapter 13: The Huntress

Panting, each Grey Warden's legs clung to the saddle of their horse, sore from the repetitive impact. The trees blurred together and the sound of swift hooves stomping on dirt and dead leaves blended to a steady roar around them, pushing them all onward despite the cold. Earth, dampened by melted frost, kicked up and caked on their boots and their horses sped through thickening forest, dense with barren trees; the absence of foliage gave truth to the harsh and frigid temperature as they skirted the edges of Emprise du Lion.

Nathaniel Howe led the stampede of Grey Wardens as they raced the fall of night. The Wardens were driven to cover as much distance as possible before the denseness of trees would prevent their ability to navigate in the dark and ultimately to escape the icy climate of the Emprise. At the last viable moment, when each rider could only see as far ahead as the horse in front of them, Nathaniel lifted his arm to halt the band. Riders mimicked the motion in succession so that they ceased movement with fluidity, the wave of hooves' vibrations ebbed into the silence that reverberated around them. Their breath was audible and seemed to echo through the surrounding forest.

"Here," Nathaniel said firmly. The first of their party willing to break the eerie stillness. They had stopped at a clearing, a gap in the trees with enough room for their tents to fit within a relative proximity to each other with a campfire in the middle. Self-directed and eager for warmth, the Wardens dismounted their horses and set up their camp in the darkness. Nathaniel pulled a blonde Elven man to the side as they worked.

"Scout the area for threats. Then find the highest point and look west. I want to know how far we are from the Graves. Take someone with you." Nathaniel gave orders to the archer. Hale watched in detached observance, curious of the interaction. Isenam was to be their guide through the Arbor Wilds, Hale remembered. Though he was now frowning, she noticed the wrinkles around his eyes indicating frequent laughter.

Isenam nodded to Nathaniel and grabbed his bow. "Val!" He barked the Dwarf's nickname, startling Valum from where he secured the post of a tent into the earth. Isenam followed the call with a whistle and an arm gesture for Val to join him. The two secured their weapons and set forth from their camp to survey. Through laughter at the Dwarf's expense, the Elven man patted the Dwarf on the back while they walked.

Between the nine remaining members, the encampment was quickly erected and a campfire lit. Unlike the previous night, the Wardens crowded together around the crackling heat. The intensity of cold hit them suddenly as the exertion from riding and setting the camp had ceased. Even Hale did not isolate herself, joining the group around the fire with the same desperation as the rest. Nathaniel stood slightly removed, looking over his shoulder for the return of Isenam and Valum.

"So…" Hale chimed in as they held their gloved hands over the campfire. "Fuck this shite."

The group turned to her with surprised, questioning glances; one eyebrow raised inquisitively, Nathaniel's sight shifted to Hale, his arms crossed with authority. Her long, assertive strides exuded confidence as she smugly drifted from the seven other Wardens standing directly around the fire back to her horse, tied near some tents. She was all too comfortable- as if the forest was her home, and her Warden brethren had come for a visit. A moment later, she returned with a drum. It had a single flat, circular surface and the wood sides angled inward before flaring back out. She casually flipped it over, holding the weight of the drum in one hand, and pulled a flask from the body. Delicately, she set the drum down in front of her feet. "Let's warm things up, yeah?" She said with a grin, bowing her head behind her flask and taking a sip. She hissed after she swallowed, her grin remaining as she offered the flask to the person to her left.

The Wardens were stunned. Some peeked over their shoulders to Nathaniel to see his reaction. His face remained ambivalent, and he did not intervene. There was nothing that said Grey Wardens were not permitted to drink during their quests, but typically they waited for permission from their acting leader, after duties were assigned. Since Nathaniel did not seem opposed, the next person in the circle shrugged and took the flask. She took a sip and coughed.

"Maker's beard, Hale. What is this?" She asked through coughs.

Hale laughed. "Qunari shite. Can't pronounce it." She surveyed the human mischievously, wondering what her reaction would be. "Warmer now though, aren't ya hun? That shite hits the spot."

The woman's eyebrow raised at Hale and she spoke firmly. "It's Damia, and yes. Thanks… I think." She lifted the flask and nodded in skeptical gratitude to Hale before passing the drink to the next person who sipped with a similar reaction.

Time passed as the flask slowly went around the circle and the group grew more comfortable, despite the frigid temperatures. Hale found a log for herself and pushed it towards the fire. The Wardens, including Damia, talked amongst themselves, laughter occasionally floating through the air. She sat down and pulled the drum to her, strumming her fingers on the taut surface. Growing bored, Hale glanced over her shoulder to Nathaniel as Isenam and Valum returned to him, giving him an update on their location and any risks. Listening as well as she could, she heard that they were safe. She took that as a cue.

"Lieutenant!" She yelled to grab his attention. "Fucking sit down and join us!"

Nathaniel smiled back. It was a charming grin, but she sensed something twisted within it. "No," he replied through his smirk.

He offered no explanation to his answer. Noticing some subtle similarities between Hale and Caoilainn, Nathaniel sarcastically thought to himself, _Th_ _is is exactly what I need. Another bossy woman in my life._

Her eyes narrowed to a squint and Nathaniel saw the frustration in her glance. The young Elf so eagerly wanted him to join her. And under other circumstances he would, but for tonight he was dutiful in his work and that included keeping his distance. The light of the fire danced on her face as she glared at him from a few paces away.

"Oh, come on! Warm up and have some fun."

"Someone has to stand watch, Hale," he replied resolutely. As he spoke, Isenam and Valum joined the circle and took the flask still wandering through the group. Though the flushed cheeks of those who had multiple sips of the alcohol were not visible by the campfire, the early signs of slurred speech and swayed movements were plain. The rest of the group found their own logs to push near the fire and sit.

"Fine," she replied curtly, her tone stubborn. "We'll have fun without you." She turned to Damia sitting next to her, laughing lightly, visibly intoxicated. "Hun," Hale called. Damia looked over her shoulder to Hale and squinted, playfully scolding Hale with her eyes for using the nickname. Hale curled her finger to bring Damia closer. Leaning over to Hale, Damia giggled loudly as Hale whispered something in her ear, then she nodded.

Nathaniel remained observant, but his suspicion of Hale grew as he followed the interaction. Before he had a chance to interrupt what he thought he saw, Hale beat her drum once then strummed her fingers loudly on the surface. With another beat, Damia stood. Hale beat again, and again. Then at once, she struck the surface in different locations in rapid succession, creating unique vibrations and notes to the music. It was quick, the beat alluring and provocative. Damia's hips swayed as she understood the beat; she pulled up another friend to dance with her. Hale's grin widened, and she made a high-pitched cry led by a loud roll of her tongue and an upward inflection. The other Wardens cried out, a few of the elves answering the unique call she made with their own. Soon, most of the Wardens were dancing to Hale's drumming, the others pleased with observing, and the flask still making its way around. Victoriously, Hale looked over to Nathaniel.

He was watching the activity around the campfire with mild awe. This was an experience as Lieutenant that he could safely say he never had, nor ever expected to. Under other circumstances, he would shut this party down, but Isenam and Val had reported no activity, not even animal, in the vicinity. His curiosity about the young Elven woman was magnified by her behavior. She was quite talented as a drummer, and even more so at lightening a mood. _This is the Warden that started a brawl at Vigil's Keep?_ He pondered.

The group didn't seem to notice Hale's drumming gradually fade. Those dancing were now sweating in the cold, the energy effortlessly shifting to laughter and jovial conversation. Nathaniel's glance shifted to Hale when she finished her song. Genuinely impressed with the festivities she had livened, and still wary to stay away from her, he gave Hale a salute.

And as though that were a message, Hale rose from her spot by the fire and walked to him, her drum in one hand. The crackling fire behind her prevented him from reading her expression, but the attractive motion of her hips was undeniable. He suspected she was smiling as she neared. Ever so slightly intimidated by the girl, unsure of what she was about to do, he shifted on his feet. Eyes remained locked, tension building with each slow step she took, until she walked right past him to her tent. Puzzled, he followed her with his eyes as she entered her tent with her drum. A moment later emerged with her quiver and bow instead.

"Good time for a hunt," she said through a smirk as she walked toward him. Then she lightly jogged away from the encampment.

"Wait!" Nathaniel yelled after her as Hale darted off. He glanced at the group by the fire and determined them safe before he rolled his eyes and followed her. _Stupid girl. This is not the time or place for a fucking hunt._ But concern and duty called him to follow. She was his charge, and he made a commitment to both his Commander and the Inquisitor to keep her safe.

Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the outlines of trees, and at least a few yards ahead of him. He followed her footsteps, tuning into his senses for the light shifting of leaves, the soft thuds of her boots landing on softened dirt, any sign that she was near. Then suddenly, the sounds ceased. He stopped in a small clearing when he no longer heard her, met with immediate quiet. The activity of the encampment just barely audible in the distance. _Damn. I took the fucking bait._ "Hale?" He whispered loudly, recognizing that this was some ploy by the girl.

Then he heard a thump behind him. Acting only on reflexes, he swiftly turned around a lifted his hand in defense. Hale's eyes widened in fear before her lips spread to a shit-eating grin. She swallowed. "Yeah?"

Nathaniel lowered his hand quickly and glared viciously. "Fuck Hale. Don't do that. I would hurt killed you."

"But you didn't," she said lightly, crossing her arms as she studied his reaction to her.

"You wandered from the camp without permission," he scolded, just as frustrated with himself for following as with her for wandering off. "You put yourself, the camp and me in danger. I could have you reprimanded."

"But you won't," she quipped.

"But I should," he continued scolding. "We're going back to the camp. This hunt is over."

Slow steps in the darkness with the distant glow of the campfire their target, Hale and Nathaniel walked in an awkward, weighted hush. The tension was palpable; Hale knew she was not in his favor. Delicate, deliberate, and experienced paces carried them carefully through the dense forest.

Then suddenly, Hale tripped. "Dammit!" She yelled as she grabbed Nathaniel in her fall. He caught her and lifted her forcefully. "Thanks, mate," she said with a friendly tone as she attempted to stand free from him, unable because Nathaniel held her by the wrist.

"Give it back," he said in a firm and impatient voice.

"What are you talkin' about?" Hale replied, attempting to play her innocence from any accusations he might be making. She lightly pulled at her wrist in a lazy effort to free herself from his grasp.

"I said," he restated. "Give it back."

With a huff Hale pulled a small sextant from her pocket with her other hand. Head lowered in guilt from being caught, she extended her hand with the gold navigation device resting in her palm. Nathaniel took it from her with his free hand and put it back in his pocket. "And I saw you steal something from Damia earlier too. I suggest you give it back, even better if you do so before she notices. The Grey Wardens are your family now and that won't stop them from teaching you a lesson. You're cunning, hunter, but cunning won't save you from those far more skilled in stealth and combat than you."

Hale groaned and rolled her eyes, her lips full in an angry pout. "Got it," she replied stubbornly, glaring at Nathaniel with her narrow wrist still gripped in his large hand. "Let go."

"No," he stated bluntly, determined to finally uncover the mystery of this difficult young woman. "Not until you tell me what your problem is."

"Fuck sort of question is that?" She asked with irritation, clearly not interested in talking about herself, her hand limp in Nathaniel's bind. Her vitriol conflicted with her lax posture, and Nathaniel could not read her eyes as her messy hair cascaded around her face.

"The kind I'm asking as the officer you report to on this mission." Though his grip didn't loosen, he knew Hale could free herself if she truly wanted. Skilled enough in combat and especially evasion, she would easily know how to remove herself from his grasp, but she didn't. It compelled his intrigue.

"What d'you want to know?" She inquired begrudgingly.

 _She's like a difficult kid._ "Where do you come from?" Nathaniel asked in a serious tone.

He wasn't sure if she was considering her response or passively refusing to answer as a long pause passed between them. The tone of her energy did not match her body language, he noticed as he studied her hostility.

Eventually, she spoke bluntly and spit at the ground. "Go plough yerself."

 _Lovely,_ he thought bitterly _._ Then his head tilted back as his harsh and deep laugh boomed through the quiet. He was not amused. "Insubordination isn't tolerated, Warden. And discharge is an option. Your conscription can be undone. So should you wish to stay out of jail, I'd suggest you follow my orders."

Resentment and sarcasm coated every word that came from her mouth. "I'm Dalish. The Inquisitor is my cousin, but you knew that. Didn't think I needed to tell you again."

Her reply lacked any information of substance. She was deliberately delaying the conversation. _But why?_

"I'm tiring of this game," he replied in aggravation. He knew that there was more to her story, though the details eluded him, and he wanted her to explain. "You didn't learn how to pickpocket from the Dalish, and you sure as shit didn't get an accent like that from the Lavellan clan." Nathaniel knew enough about the Lavellan from his time in the Free Marches. They were one of the Elven clans most inclined to trade with humans.

"Fine." Hale sighed. "Grew up in the Denerim Alienage." Heavy silence followed her words.

Nathaniel did not push for her to say more. _Well, that explains it._ He waited patiently until she sullenly continued.

"My da was a trader from the Lavellan clan. He taught me everything 'fore he died. I got stranded there." She stopped for a moment, staring hard at the ground, teeth clenched. She was seething at the details of the recollection she neglected to share. Her gaze traveled up to Nate's, daring him. "Stealing's handy fucking skill for a street rat, ya know? So's hunting. Made decent money selling what I killed."

They stood reticently; shocked at her story, Nathaniel released her wrist. He had no reply and for a moment he regretted pushing the information from her. But an inconsistency interrupted the regret. "When you saw the Inquisitor, you said 'you know I always come back.' How's that if you've been living in the Alienage?" He was highly skeptical of the thief's honesty but his tone remained neutral.

"When I's old enough I left the Alienage to find my clan. But it wasn't home no more. I lived between them, but mostly I just stayed out of both. Forest's more home than some slum fucking street or some traveling elven circus. Then I got conscripted, and I guess I figured I owed it to our Bitch Queen Commander," Hale continued. Nathaniel, grateful for the darkness, stifled a laugh by coughing. "Because she killed the fucks who killed my dad. And now I'm a fucking Grey Warden."

Casually, the young Elf reached into her boot and pulled another flask. As she moved to unscrew the lid, Nathaniel saw the glimmer of the container. "Give me that," he said with exasperation, his tone resounding his disapproval. He took it from her hand and glared before sighing and drinking from the flask himself. He did not return it to her. "I'm sorry about all that happened," he offered, but ultimately had no other words of apology for Hale. "But being a Grey Warden can change your life if you let it. Let's get back," he scolded, motioning for her to keep moving toward the camp and taking another swig from her flask.

"See you're finally willing to have some fun, Lieutenant." As they walked she mocked his earlier decline of joining the festivities she had riled. "Finally realizing yer leash is long enough to let loose?"

"What are you getting at?" Feelings of impatience and annoyance returned toward the young woman.

"Oh, well…" The condescension in her tone was noticeable as she mocked him. "The Bitch Queen Commander. She's got you pretty well trained, don't she?" Nate did not immediately answer. "Come on mate, it's kind of obvious."

 _She's a Nightmare Demon._ Hale's humor disregarded the years of effort he had put into following Caoilainn's rules. The Warden Commander dreaded the idea of her army knowing of their dalliances.

"She's my Commander," he explained, glad she couldn't see his slightly reddening face as they walked. "No, I don't have to explain anything to you. And I'll add a warning: insulting the Warden Commander is also insubordination."

"'Course it is," she nodded her head in sarcastic solemnity, then her tone shifted. "Care to reprimand me _this time_ , Lieutenant? I'm sure you got some clever ways."

"What are you-" he started as his disapproval heightened, but stopped midsentence as he realized the suggestive nature of her tone. She was watching for his reaction with a raised eyebrow, challenging him to respond. He gave a short laugh and cut the line of conversation off. "Hah. No. Nope. We're still on a mission and you and I are not going there."

 _Did I just say that?_ Typically he was unopposed to advances from women, but he had been playing this game long enough to know when a woman was not worth the consequences, no matter how outstanding she might be in bed. This was one of those times and this young hunter was far too wild for his taste. Not to mention, the threats he had received from Caoilainn and the Inquisitor compounded the lack of interest in the risk. But he could not deny the magnetism of his curiosity about her and so far that kept him from following through with threats of reprimand or discharge _. This girl's playing with fire._

"Oh, come on," she teased. "Aren't you the type to prey on young Wardens, Lieutenant?" Her question danced around Nathaniel's suspected transgressions with intrigue; the eagerness in her voice was tangible.

He gave the same charming smile as before. _I'm not taking the bait this time._ "I might be," he admitted nonchalantly. "But I'm not the one preying here, huntress."

Silence heavily filled the pause between them. When Hale replied, her grin was audible, her tone flirty and tempting. "But Lieutenant, yer girlfriend's not here. You can do what-"

Despite the buzz of the strong alcohol, Nathaniel's agility was not diminished. The sound of shuffling dead leaves, Hale's gasp, followed by a soft thud, concluded with Nathaniel backing Hale to a tree. He didn't touch her, aware the proximity of this interaction contradicted his professionalism. _It's difficult to remain professional with this girl_. They were still out of earshot from the camp though the activity from around the campfire was discernable. "I mean it, Hale." He said darkly, clearly vexed. "You're treading on thin ice."

She flashed her teeth in a sultry half snarl, half smile. He could feel her breath against him. The clouds of air leaving their mouths in small puffs was visible in the cold. "It's good I'm light on my feet then." Her voice was low, testing, and unafraid.

They stayed like this for many slow, stretched seconds, glaring at each other, neither willing to succumb. Her weight was shifted to one leg, a defensive posture. _So use it. React._ Yet, Nate noticed again that she did not push closer to him. She had several points from this position that she could overpower him but she didn't. Instead, she stayed passively pinned.

"Fine. Promise, Lieutenant. I'll be on my best behavior," Hale caved first and Nathaniel released her.

"Good," he replied shortly, certain that her words were meaningless, if only because he had prevaricated the same commitment to Caoilainn time and time again. The pair walked back to the camp.


	14. Chapter 14: Preliminary

_Vigil's Keep- one year ago_

 _Caoilainn rose from her bed and pulled on her leather breeches, lacing them at the sides while she spoke. Upper body bare, the pink tone to her skin lessening as it met the cool temperatures of the room._

 _"It's nothing, Nate. Just ignore it," she said with annoyance. Though she knew exactly what Nathaniel was referring to and the challenge it was to ignore._

 _"Caoilainn, it feels so real," his voice was pleading and forlorn. "It's a song I hear all the time, but it's not just in my head. It's in my whole body."_

 _"I know," she confessed. "I've felt it too."_

 _"But then… that means there's another Archdemon. Caoilainn, we have to-."_

 _"No!" She yelled and spun around to face him. Nathaniel was laying down; the blanket draped over his body, a small veil of sweat visible on his skin. Caoilainn's voice quaked low and rigid. "I've killed an Archdemon." She took a breath. "And this is not the same. I received orders from Weisshaupt not to follow Clarel, and I plan to follow them."_

 _Exhausted and admitting defeat, Nathaniel sighed. "All right. If you say so," he rose from the bed naked. "But what about this false Calling?... If that's what it is?"_

 _"We ignore it," her response was blunt and all too simple. Nathaniel stepped closer to her. His hands rested on her hips while she offered a solution. Fierce silver-blue eyes met his grey ones. "It should not impact newer Wardens. And the connection of our Senior Wardens is strong, Nate. We are the griffon and we can overcome this."_

* * *

Skyhold

Nervous. _But why?_ And frustrated with herself. _This is still a mission and I need to focus._ She tried to remind herself that Alistair was still just Alistair: the same awkward buffoon she met, and ultimately fell in love with, over ten years ago. _Whatever has come over him lately is just a phase._

She was mildly sweaty; bruises were forming underneath her armor, and a few small slashes in the cloth parts of her armor revealed flesh wounds from practice. Caoilainn's face was dirty from removing her helm and her hair was messy, damp with perspiration and full of knots. But she walked powerfully, each step a forceful action to take her to her destination. The door to the War Room swung open, and she entered; the afternoon light cast shadows across the table and against the walls. Her presence was nothing short of demanding and successfully masked the storming emotions underneath.

"Warden Commander," she was greeted by the Inquisitor who she suspected was flustered by something herself.

Caoilainn surveyed the room. At the War Table stood Leliana and Josephine and the Inquisitor who welcomed her. But Alistair, relaxing in a chair, was speaking cheerfully to Cullen. They were deep in what looked to be a pleasant conversation that was completely unburdened by her entrance. _Did Alistair just wink?_

She neared the table and Inquisitor Alanna spoke. "Thank you for joining us, Warden Commander." The sound of her voice brought attention to the table. Alistair rose from his chair to stand with the group. His presence was professional, his hands clasped behind his back, but Caoilainn was certain she saw the slightest evidence of a smirk as she stood across from him.

Stepping closer, the map and markers becoming clear, Caoilainn centered herself. This was her territory, a place where she thrived. _And it is not the place to play games with me, Alistair._ She thought, settling into her task at hand.

"We are preparing the steps for our army's movement to the Wilds. Your experience will be most helpful," Alanna explained, scanning the faces of Caoilainn and her husband. "And yours, King Alistair."

"I am at your service, Inquisitor," Caoilainn pledged and her posture straightened.

"And I," Alistair added. "Ferelden has stood to the side long enough during this catastrophe."

"This meeting is called in preliminary to our expedition," Alanna clarified the reason for the meeting, and the limitations they faced. Her brow set, serious, but her demeanor calm and welcoming. "Though we still need the status of your scouts, Warden before we can make the final arrangements, the council has decided it best to discuss our strategy now. This can be updated after their detail."

"'Tis a wise decision," a voice rang from the doorway.

A confident saunter led Morrigan to the table. Silence filled the room as they all watched her near. By prying observation, Caoilainn noticed Alistair's ears turning the faintest shade of red. _Morrigan makes you uncomfortable, doesn't she?_ It was amusing, but underneath the entertainment with his reaction, a small stab of jealousy sprang forth.

"I'm glad you agree, Morrigan," Alanna responded before continuing with the meeting. "Caoilainn, have you heard about our siege of Adamant in Orlais?"

"Vaguely," she admitted. "My research on the Inquisition took place after Adamant. I couldn't find much information on the matter. May Warden Commander de Chanson find peace with the Maker." Caoilainn had discovered about her death, but this had been reported to her from Weisshaupt. The circumstances of her passing were unavailable.

"Yes, our Spymaster is excellent at minimizing word of these conflicts from the public eye." Alanna nodded to the silent Leliana who bowed back. "What communication did you have with Commander Clarel de Chanson prior to her death?"

The rest of the room remained silent through this conversation though a heavy and suspicious tension formed. _What is she getting at?_ Caoilainn wondered, consciously holding her neutral tone.

"She contacted us last year," Caoilainn offered, prudent with her words, well aware that all eyes were on her. "Clarel had written, saying she found a way to stop the Blight for good and needed all Wardens."

"And you did not respond?" Alanna asked with raised eyebrows, questioning the actions of the Warden Commander as objectively as possible.

"The First Warden at Weisshaupt ordered me to stand down," Caoilainn explained. "I did not trust Clarel's new ally, particularly because of the timing of this allegiance. So I did not question the First Warden's decision."

Her eyes darted to Alistair and subtly widened. _Help me out,_ she thought with frustration. The line of questioning she was receiving was wearing on her. Alistair did not intervene.

"And have your Wardens experienced any symptoms of the Calling?" Alanna asked with testing curiosity. The question was insensitive and all too personal to ask a Grey Warden. Caoilainn was taken aback and responded to Alanna with a blank stare before she answered.

"Yes." It was a short and honest reply. "And with my guidance, my Wardens and I have been able to resist it." Caoilainn's decision that this portion of their conversation was over came quickly. Specific information about a Grey Warden's experience of the Calling would not be provided if it was unnecessary. "I have taught my Wardens well, Inquisitor and when we felt this false Calling a year ago, we quickly came together to unite our strengths and ignore it. Does this satisfy your concerns?" She turned the questioning back on Alanna.

Alanna stared at Caoilainn earnestly, frowning, measuring her honesty and strength as a leader. "It does," Alanna confirmed. The rest of the group seemed to sigh in unison, the tension of the meeting instantly relieved.

Eager to change the subject, the Inquisition's Commander interrupted the silence. "Now we must decide how to march, based on the information we have gathered. The goal is to allow the Inquisitor's small party to reach the Temple with as little hindrance as possible." Cullen's gaze scanned the attendees of the meeting.

"My spies have reported that Red Templar and Venatori armies are preparing their troops for a mission." Leliana briefed the table, her eyes nearly hidden in shadow under her hood. "We have concluded that they are rushing the Arbor Wilds. I am certain they will defend the temple from our entry until Corypheus arrives. With our new allies, we outnumber them, but only by a small amount."

Caoilainn frowned and her brow creased in thought. After a moment, she leaned over the table and took some unused markers without reserve. Methodically, she laid them on the War Table with purpose. "Send the Ferelden and Highever soldiers first, right through the center. The Inquisition army can strengthen them. Overwhelm the enemy. My Grey Wardens can attack from the outside in smaller numbers and that will leave plenty of opportunity for the Inquisitor to complete her mission."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alistair chimed in as he moved around the table to stand next to Caoilainn, leaning over and reorganizing the markers she had placed. "I'll command my own troops, thank you. I propose the Ferelden army back up the Inquisition and Highever's. And the Grey Wardens attack from the other side of the enemy. Surprise them. In case they have any demony things about them, you'll spot them first."

Glancing at him from the side, Caoilainn squinted critically. _Damn it. He's gotten good at this._ Her mouth opened slightly, in preparation to retort his decision, but she realized it was just as adequate as hers.

The Inquisitor studied them both; their marital discord masked in their use of their strategy was amusing and trivial. "Commander Rutherford?" She asked, trusting him to objectively make the best decision.

"We'll overpower the army with the Inquisition, Highever and Ferelden troops through the center as one unit." Cullen's tone was official and decided. "And we will reserve the decision on how best to use the Wardens until we receive word from your scouts, Warden Commander."

Caoilainn gave a stiff nod and Alistair bowed his head to Cullen. Then Morrigan piped in, her confidence perceptible in the tiny smirk at the corners of her lips. "I would encourage our army not disrupt the grounds of the temple. Not only must we be careful of the Eluvian, the temple is said to hold many well-kept secrets."

Perturbed with Morrigan's cryptic speech, Leliana replied, her voice dripping with irritation, "and what does that mean?"

"If I knew the secrets they certainly would not be well-kept, would they?" Morrigan answered casually at the what she clearly presumed to be an obvious answer to Leliana's question.

As the discussion continued of the placement of forces and the information they had gathered on the enemy so far, Alistair leaned over to Caoilainn in observance of the group, and whispered. "Now someone really needs a bath," his voice teasing at their conversation from the bedroom that morning and her current disheveled state from practice.

Unable to hide the flush of her cheeks, her hand came to rest above her eyes, covering her face; she glared at Alistair to her side.

"Not now," she whispered an order. Her expression blended her stubbornness, enticement with his flirting, and a futile plea to allow her to save face in front of the council. The layers of armor, the sweat and grime from practice, and the militaristic wall she put up to block his affection teetered with instability.

"Whenever I want," he replied to her order with his own. The grin he gave combined with his raised eyebrow spoke multitudes of what he meant, brash and immodest to any witnesses at the War Table; it rattled her to the core. She couldn't resist it. His relentlessly smirking eye contact, the slope of his nose, the confident and proud lift of his chin, all made her blush bloom redder. The heat from her body was amplified by her clothing; her body temperature already raised by the armor. Unexpectedly, she giggled uncomfortably; the laugh quickly turned into a gasping cough and to hide her reaction, she leaned her face into his arm.

Alistair's other hand came to meet her head, caressing her hair and the arm she leaned against moved to pull her closer to him. The council at the War Table stopped their discussion in confusion and turned to look at Alistair, Caoilainn coughing into his chest. Alistair responded to their glances through a brazen smile. "Excuse us," he glanced down to Caoilainn then back up to the council. "The Queen just needs to get out of her armor."

Though her face was hidden, Caoilainn blushed even harder. Her complete and total embarrassment prevented her from apologizing to the Inquisitor and company for their interruption and Alistair's inappropriate behavior. _I will never forgive him for this._

"Oh," Alanna responded in surprise. But quickly processed the message in his tone and hid her own amused reaction. "Of course. We will begin our march to the forward camp in the Graves tomorrow morning."

Alistair bowed his head and guided Caoilainn out of the room. And as the door closed behind them, she heard the giggles of the War Council.

* * *

As the distance grew between Alistair, Caoilainn and the War Room, her embarrassment was joined by frustration. Battling desires to fall over in laughter and smack the smirk off Alistair's face warred within her. She pushed away from him and in a low voice, so as not to catch the attention of those in the main hall, she scolded him as genuinely as possible through suppressed giggles. "Damn it, Alistair! For the love of Andraste. Why would you say that in the War Room... in front of the War Council?"

Alistair's grin prevailed through her cursing, but he did not answer. He continued walking silently toward their room near the tavern and she followed.

A few heads turned to watch the attractive, royal couple rushing through the courtyard. Alistair did not look the least bit disturbed by the flustered wife at his side. The sun was setting, and a bright and brilliant array of colors cast across the sky. Thunderclouds were rolling in from the distance.

"Answer me!" She whispered loudly; her expression both demanding and desperate as they walked side by side. In response, Alistair stopped right in the middle of the Skyhold courtyard and turned to Caoilainn. She met his gaze and opened her mouth, about to yell another diatribe. But before she could say anything, he picked up his discomposed and armored queen by her waist and slung her over his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs as he resumed his walk to their room. Her fists beat on his back through an uncontained fit of angry giggles.

"Damn it, Alistair! Put me down!" She yelled as he ruthlessly marched onward. It was quite a sight for the Skyhold courtyard.

The door to their room swung open and Alistair stepped in, setting her down before shutting it. Caoilainn gasped for breath, her face just as red as when they left the War Council meeting. Her laughter ebbed into authentic frustration. "Why would you do that?!"

Playful, teasing, his pleasure not the slightest bit hampered by her mood, he answered. "Simple, my dear. That…" he slowed his speech for impact, "was payback."

Something about his response caused Caoilainn's eclectic combination of emotions to reduce to a defeated fatigue. Standing in her armor, her hair even more disarrayed than before, she whimpered helplessly. Alistair waited to respond as what might have been a soft cry morphed into giggles before erupting into a complete and uncontrollable laughter. Alistair watched silently, appreciating the spectacle of Caoilainn's loss of control as she laughed. At first he was proud of himself for creating the response; his arms folded over his chest. Then he realized how much he missed the sound and how long it had been since he heard it.

Caoilainn, finally able to catch her breath, asked him lightheartedly. "I suppose I deserved that? Well, I surrender. You win this round." As she folded her anger to his humor, she looked to Alistair standing near the door with his arms crossed, silent and smiling contentedly. "What is it?" Her question was filled with innocent confusion.

Alistair made a loving and wistful confession. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages." It was soft, vulnerable in spite of his cruelly prankish machinations from earlier. His brash and bold demeanor subsided and a glimpse of the sentimental young man she fell in love with came through.

Bashful and nostalgic in her own right, she looked to the ground before meeting his gaze with a timid simper. Uncomfortable with the sudden closeness they were sharing and eager to lessen the intensity, she sighed. "Please don't use it as incentive to do that again. It was completely embarrassing."

He did not blink at the shift of energy, and their banter resumed. "Sorry, my Queen. But it had to be done," he responded charmingly, though she was sure he did not feel even the slightest bit of remorse for his behavior. "And I'll make it up to you."

"Is that so?" She gave voice to her skepticism. "How do you plan to do that?"

Alistair's smile widened just before he turned around and opened the door again. As his head stuck into the hallway, she heard him murmuring an order to what must have been a passing messenger for the Inquisition. The sound of the messenger's footsteps dutifully walking away outside of their small room provided little information of what he was doing. Alistair came back in and shut the door; her brow furrowed with concern.

"I said you needed a bath, didn't I? And you still owe me that peep show you promised," he answered vaguely. _What is he planning?_ She wondered cautiously, unable to read the intention behind his self-assuredness.

"Alistair, I can bathe myself. Thank you." Wary of his plans, she attempted to relieve the anxious excitement she was feeling by taking back control, if only to follow decorum. Truthfully, the suspense of not knowing what he had in mind was quite alluring.

"Oh I know you can," he acknowledged with the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his tone. "But today, my Queen, you'll let me do it."

At the end of his statement, he effortlessly took off the outer collar of his armor and threw it the small distance to their bed. Then he removed his leather surcoat and did the same. This left him standing in a light tunic of which he rolled up the long sleeves. The shirt did little to hide his sinewy build.

Unsure how to respond, she stood still; her mouth hanging open as she watched him in fascination. Their heads turned to the knock at the door. Alistair stepped to open it, being careful with the angle of the entry and how much of the room the messenger could see.

"Hot water for the King?" Caoilainn heard from the hallway.

Alistair took a bucket of water from the messenger and brought it into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He bent his knees to place the heavy bucket on the ground. Whispers of steam rose lightly from the water as it sloshed against the sides of the wooden container. Some of the water had already splashed to the floor. He glanced up at her from his crouching position at the other side of the room.

"All right. Armor off," he ordered.

Caoilann laughed. It was a combination of disbelief and genuine humor. "Really?" She asked, only to be met with Alistair's expectant smile. His steady eye contact strengthened the authenticity of his order. She grinned. _Fine. I'll play this game. "_ Whatever you say."

"Whatever who says?" he asked as he stood up, grinning more wildly than before. A spark in his eyes had activated, and it made her stomach twist with anticipation.

Genuine enjoyment melded with her looming cynicism. "My king," she addressed him with a small and playful curtsy. Unsure herself if she was deriding his game or truly abandoning all hesitation to play. Being a woman known for her self-composure, her ability to navigate her role in power, there was something special about Alistair taking charge. _Though I hate to admit it, this is fun. Even if it is just a phase._

Arms still folded again across his broad chest, Alistair watched Caoilainn as she stripped off her clothes from the other side of the room. She removed her gloves first, then her boots, followed by her leather breeches, and threw them to the floor away from her. She was left with her long and bare legs exposed underneath the Grey Warden tabard.

"Stop," Alistair commanded and Caoilainn froze. She glanced at him with confusion, obeying his order though with minor irritation.

"What?" Bluntly, she asked with a bite to her tone.

He lifted one hand in a motion to stop her words and he glimpsed to the bucket before meeting her gaze. "Tonight you're mine, Caoilainn," he explained with finality. His tone strict but his words soft. She could see the spark in his eyes even more alive than a moment ago. "And you will not question my orders."

The gaze was hard, and her already twisted stomach tightened harder. Her heart beat faster _. He's commanding me_.

"Yes, my King," she said with deference. An impassioned smile teasing at the corners of her lips. Caoilainn held her position, her arms at her sides, while Alistair observed. He scanned her body, appreciative and lustful from where he stood. The tense moment seemed to drag on. It was as if he wished to commit the image of her to his memory. Filled with a pleasant discomfort, an enticing anxiety, Caoilainn questioned if she was following his order correctly. The satisfied expression on Alistair's face the only sign of his approval.

"Continue," he ordered with no other explanation of his previous command.

"Yes, my King," she answered and returned to the duty of removing her clothing delicately due to the small wounds she gained that morning. Her belt and tabard came off next, then the chemise she wore underneath them, until she was left standing in only her small clothes. Uncertain, she paused here to meet his gaze again. His smirk had returned, but he withheld any other orders.

Ardent, aroused, and with unwavering eye contact, she examined his reaction as she slowly removed her small clothes. Finally, the naked Queen stood at one side of their small room at Skyhold and the King at the other, appearing quite pleased. A deep and waning orange light filled their room, heralding the oncoming storm.

The brisk air of the room tickled her skin, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end. And her body responded in other ways. Alistair's grin and gaze wordlessly ordered her to stay where she was, unmoving as he studied her. Proudly, knowing he liked what he saw, even with her wounds from combat, she stared back at him with powerful obedience. It was her choice to stand there, to allow him to observe her. The subtle and passive use of her power contradicted the overt use of her authority as Warden Commander.

Eventually, Alistair's voice sounded. "Come here." His order carried no anger or belligerence. It was caring, kind, and ultimate, leaving no room for question, debate or alternative.

"Yes, my King," she murmured again and gingerly stepped to him. The stone floors were chilly to her bare feet and the air suddenly crisper. Dark clouds came over the fortress of Skyhold, forcing the already cool mountain air to drop in temperature and the room to darken.

Her steps slowed until he stopped her body by resting a hand on her hip. One hand held her chin as he mouthed the word, "stay," in earnest.

She nodded understanding and held her place near the bucket of warm water. The steam drifted up and contrasted the cold air of the room against her legs. She noticed this sensation as she watched Alistair walk to the sink basin in the room behind him. After gathering a bar of soap and a washcloth in one hand and lifting a small stool from under the sink in the other, he returned. He set the stool down with a soft thud against the floor and sat on it, facing Caoilainn who stood before him.

Uncomfortable again, she shifted lightly on her feet. Her thumb rose to her mouth and she bit the end of it awkwardly. Without interrupting, she studied him knowingly soak the washcloth in the warm water of the bucket. It was relieving and nerve-wracking that he did not seem to share the strange discomfort she was feeling. _But why is this so uncomfortable?_

The song of tinkling droplets hitting the water broke the silence between them while he wrung the cloth. And when he was satisfied with its dampness, he glimpsed at Caoilainn. Catching her breath, suddenly, as the unexpected impact of his warming glance, his hazel eyes, overwhelmed her guard in the cold room. The body heat radiating off of him and touching her bareness created the strongest longing, and not just for sex. But for intimacy. To be held by him. For his warmth.

She bit the end of her thumb harder.

Alistair's gaze traveled back to the cloth. "I didn't know you still did that," He remarked nonchalantly in observance as he rubbed the bar of soap with one hand into the washcloth in the other.

Unaware of her own behavior, she realized the placement of her thumb and whipped it from her face in urgent embarrassment. Biting her thumb was an old habit she thought she had outgrown when she became Warden Commander. Alistair used to say it was cute.

"I don't…" she replied earnestly, diligent to remember his command. "My King."

She waited tentatively for any reaction, hesitant and cautious while Alistair studiously lathered the soap. Prophet's Laurel and lavender. She inhaled the scent as she observed his methodical movements. His smile spread. _He thinks it's funny_. Relief. She exhaled, releasing the concern she may have been remiss in her action. That the moment might end if she did not uphold her duty to his satisfaction in this game.

"Thumb biting is permitted," he grinned mischievously without looking away from the cloth.

 _Is this still a game?_

The question did not have a chance to linger. A clap of thunder rang through the room, quickly followed by the hum of rain falling hard outside the window. The sound vibrated on her naked body and a shiver ran down her spine. Alistair, still seated on the stool beneath her, took her hand. With subtle gestures, he directed her movement to face him fully. Tenderly, caring, his eyes wandered her body. _What is he waiting for?_ Watching the tiny movements that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. A small shift in weight. The nervous flex of her hand. The steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

His hand moved to her leg. On the top of her thigh, a large blueish bruise had grown. She held her breath as he brushed it gently with his thumb before leaning in to kiss it. Soft lips met the skin of her thigh and she exhaled. _This is far too gentle._ Her stomach tightened, and she inadvertently lifted her thumb to her teeth again as she watched him work beneath her.

Then he took the cloth, damp, but still warm from the water, and draped it over his hand. His palm reached to her thigh, and he pressed against her while his other arm rested on his bent leg, supporting the weight of his upper body. Moving in slow, soft circles, the soap transferred to her flesh, tickling her senses. He traveled from her thigh down to her calf, covering all angles of her leg. Nerves wracking, his steady patience challenging her own. The struggle of standing still in the face of his undivided attention divided her completely. The most pleasant torture.

He stopped when he had more than adequately washed her entire leg and stopped to appreciate his own accomplishment. Then he dunked the cloth back into the bucket. Rinsing it of soap and soaking it with water. Then with the same method, he repeated the actions to remove the bubbles from her skin. Her clean, but wet leg tingled in the still air of the room.

Studiously, he continued the same actions on her other leg. At some point, she relaxed into it. Watching his focus as he cared for her. Stopping to kiss bruises periodically, his attention flowed, his movements chosen with eloquence. It was poetic. She had to admit the beauty of it. And this divided her even more. _I don't need to be pampered._

When he washed the soap from her other leg, he repeated the steps to rinse and lather the cloth. His hand carried the soapy fabric to her stomach at his eye level. Her muscles retracted from his touch and her discomfort won over.

"Alistair," she murmured, forgetting their protocol. "I don't need this." Unease, the statement was almost a question. As if she wasn't sure if she meant it, nor if she wanted it to be true. The song of the rainfall continued, growing louder; thunder mumbled periodically.

Alistair stopped. Fluttering wildly, her heart reminded her of their agreement. It wasn't fear that took her; she knew beyond a doubt that Alistair was safe. But excited curiosity and yearning trepidation made her cheeks flush.

Purposely, his gaze traveled with the cloth as he rested it over the edge of the wooden container. Then sudden contact, his large palms grabbed her hips and with demanding tenderness, he leaned to her waist; his body rising from the stool. Warm lips pressed against her cool skin, titillating and provoking her senses. All too enduringly, his kisses continued, wandering up her midsection with forcefully soft pressure. He strayed from his linear path up her toned belly to kiss stray bruises and scrapes. And his head lingered between her breasts. She felt the smile on his lips as they pressed against her; savoring her shock and discomfort and appreciating the soft flesh of such a private location. She quivered. And his path resumed with the slightest reluctance until he reached her long and elegant neck, now standing upright before her. His breath. Hot air that teased and bullied her patience, goading her desire to run.

"I didn't ask," he whispered lowly into her ear. A strong boom of thunder shook the walls.

His whisper was electrifying; starting from her ear, continuing to her head and down to her heated core. Alistair distanced his mouth from her body and leaned over to grab the cloth from the bucket. Less than gracefully dunking it back into the water. And without wringing the fabric, he resumed washing her torso. The water splashed violently onto the floor in excess. Though his hand was more gentle, even softer than before, she felt the intensity in his motion.

She blinked slowly, another shiver running down her spine. The sound of rain was even harder. "Yes, my King," she moaned as he brushed the cloth along her upper body.

Delicate and precise attention applied as he cleaned her chest. And his hands followed his focus as he examined and cleansed the cuts on her arms with loving care. Combining the steady repetitive movements of the warm cloth on her skin brought her eyes to close with bliss. The rumbling storm outside serenaded them.

Diligently, she followed his order to kneel away from the bucket while he washed her hair, dipping her head back into the water. The soap created a magnificent lather in her long, ashen locks. She breathed in the aroma; releasing herself to relax into the massage he gave her scalp before rinsing her hair clean.

"There," he said simply. Based on the sound of his voice, he was clearly pleased with himself. Caoilainn had but a moment to think of this before he helped her rise. Her body wet, hair sticking to her skin, she shuddered. "Now we need to warm you up," he smiled. The spark in his eyes ignited to a fiery hunger.

"Yes, my King," she responded willingly.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 15: Perfection

Perfection. He gave her care, pure love; cleansing her visible and unseen wounds, healing them with a soapy cloth and his utmost commitment. The vows he spoke, the promises he made long before they were married were not taken so lightly. He planned to uphold them with devotion. If she had any willingness to attempt to salvage their love, he would pursue it. And he would call her to the version of herself she did not seem to see.

For now, her wet body craved warmth, and he planned to give it to her, with the same unwavering attention that he bathed her. Alistair reveled in the crumbling of Caoilainn's walls.

Sure, she may have gone kicking and screaming, but the results were well worth it.

"Yes, my King," he heard her say over and over. With willingness, eager to discover what would happen next if she obliged his orders. It certainly stimulated his urge to continue. Most importantly, he did it without using pain, though he knew she liked that. Through the absence of hostility and with the depth of their intimacy as he bathed her, he required Caoilainn to let down her armor.

The rain fell steadily and the echo of thunder resonated through the room with more frequency. The apex of the storm neared, making the space thick with moisture. Despite their lack of activity, a layer of condensation covered the window, the result of steam from heat within the room.

After her last reply, her permission for him to continue, he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the bed. Their eyes locked. Water dripped to the floor from her hair and body and doused his tunic where she pressed against him. Her timid simper suggested the guilt she felt: the worry that emerged about spilling water. And her silence, her lack of resistance expressed assent to his actions.

Water transferred to the bed as he laid her on it. A light layer of droplets rested on the top of their bed sheets, still unmade since he arrived. She did not break their gaze; her eyes stayed with his, waiting, questioning but silent. He knew well the patience required for the Commander. Patience became a skill he had honed adeptly in their years apart, a skill with which Caoilainn needed practice.

Once her body was resting fully, he inched away. Though he desired her greatly, his wish to prolong this intimacy proved greater.

"Relax, my Queen," he ordered softly.

"Yes, my King," she replied through a seductive smile as she rolled to her side, resting her head on one hand. Curious eyes followed his actions, much like a cat following the movement of a meal out of its reach.

Dimmer than before, as the heavy storm clouds blocked the remaining light of the sunset, he lit the lone candle of their room resting by the sink basin. The light provided enough for them to make out one another's bodies. Shadows cast across their faces, their expressions just visible. He walked back to the stool resting near the bucket. Casually, he lifted it and brought it to face the side of the bed where Caoilainn laid. He sat and caught her eyes studying him. _This powerful woman is my wife._

Their eyes engaged, stimulating one another with wordless tales of their hunger and motives. Consciously, he broke their gaze to take her body in with his eyes. He wanted her to watch him laud the image of her. Stray beads of water traveled down her front as she dried. Her long damp hair clung to her body, draping over her side. And with curve upon curve, she was muscular, provocative, and graceful. Absolutely exquisite.

 _She is mine._ The thought came to him filled with lust and the slightest shred of relief for his accomplishment.

Then he noticed her look away as her discomfort returned. Her thumb found its way to her mouth again. Uncertainty overwhelming her in the most subtle way, she bit lightly. The digit pressed against her plump lips and the pressure accentuated the elegant lines of her face. Memories of stolen, savored glimpses of that nervous gesture came to him, showing him when her restless mind had wandered, carried by her emotions. _Did Nathaniel steal the same glances?_ The question drove through the pleasure of studying her, interrupting his thoughts.

 _No. She's here now. I have her back._

"You're not relaxing," he admonished, scolding her proved a successful attempt to lessen his internal distraction.

Her eyebrow rose wickedly and she bit harder for just a moment. Alistair's brow lifted with curiosity, recognizing her test. To see if he would step forward, she was attempting to bring him to her. But he had her attention; her mind was not wandering, and that satisfied him.

She moved her hand to speak. "Is this better, my King?" She relaxed her arm and elongated her body, draping it lithely along the bed. He saw her ribcage rise and fall with each breath, her breasts rested against one another as she stretched on her side.

Eyes studied her lovely mouth which shifted delicately as she bit her lower lip, waiting eagerly for him and his answer. _My love, you don't even know how you tempt me._ "Perfect, my Queen," he assured. "Just like that."

His grin returned, and he unlaced his boots, kicking them off before he rose from the stool. He found the silk cord from her robe that lay on the floor, still there from a few nights prior. A few large paces brought him to the bed to face her. He noticed her held breath as she bit her lip. A small smirk was curving up the corner of her lips.

Flashes of lightning occurred with more frequency, brighter than before. The thunder that followed grew in intensity, echoing the flashes with just seconds of delay.

The greedy rapture of watching her aroused him; his growing erection pushed against his breeches, a reminder of his innate attraction to her as he stepped closer. And the signs of her body were clear as he neared the endured eye contact, the flush of her cheeks, her hardened nipples, and the slight shifting of her thighs indicating her own arousal. The subtle scent of her sex clung to the thick air of the room.

She looked up to him as he reached the bed; he grinned and broke their gaze to pull the tunic over his head. Before throwing the tunic to the floor, he tore into it, creating a long band of fabric. Caoilainn looked up, her eyes wide with anticipation, brows furrowing briefly in passing confusion. Alistair sat next to her, facing her as she stretched along the bed. The cord from her robe and the fabric from his tunic lay beside her. She was far more compliant this time.

The sensation of their body heat meeting magnetized them to one another, longing for contact. Caoilainn's arms extended above her head from the way she laid. The slightest nudge on her shoulder led her to roll onto her back, and then he applied lingering pressure to her wrist with his hand. She mewled, delighted at the much anticipated touch. The pressure allowed him to relax her muscles and move her wrists to bind and secure them with silk. It was a simple bind, not as immobilizing as the other night. And she could free herself if she desired, but something told him that would not happen tonight.

Once he secured her wrists together, bound with her arms extended overhead, her body fully exposed, her attention was even more undivided. He leaned to her, one hand resting on each side of her body, like an animal hunting its prey. But to devour her with a kiss, a small peck that demanded her to crave more. She opened her mouth to let him in, his tongue sliding between her lips meeting her own. Sensual, a reward to the long build up of their intimacy. Their energy combining, their intentions unified with their shared desires. Pent ravenousness, subdued by their active use of discipline.

He broke away first and gave a sinful smile. Hands reached for the fabric he tore from his tunic.

"Close your eyes," he ordered as he stretched the fabric before her eyes.

"Mmm, my King," she mumbled in pleasure, clearly approving of this addition.

Coarse fabric came over her closed eyes. He tied the strip of cloth behind her head and made final adjustments to limit any possible vision from underneath the makeshift blindfold.

His lips, curving into a smile brushed her jaw line and wandered to her collarbone. She shivered. He could feel her urge to move, to blindly take back control; her chest fallen, held in an exhale as she awaited his next action. Caoilainn stayed her desire to pursue this moment to fruition. To completion. Instead, she remained, patiently, obediently. In darkness.

"Don't forget to breathe," he whispered into her ear.

"Yes, my King," she answered breathily, inhaling slowly as she waited to sense his movement. With no other contact, the space between each kiss filled with suspense as he traveled down to her chest. His nose nuzzled against the space between her breasts until his lips met her skin. Caoilainn knew this was one of many of his favorite locations of her body.

Lingering light kisses traveled down to her belly. Ticklish, her nerves jumping, muscles withdrawing, she withheld her resistance. He was proud.

"What would you like next, my Queen?" he inquired as one hand ran along the inside of her thigh.

Silence. _She's thinking._ Her response delayed as she pondered her answer. Lightning cracked, closer. Louder. Accenting the silence with impact.

"Pain, my King," she said bluntly. He grinned. _Predictable._

A rough palm slid against her chest, finding its way to her neck. His hand wrapped around, applying the faintest pressure as she expected him to press and squeeze. Caoilainn's kinks were unique, he had learned, and despite being obliged to engage in them with her, he understood why she enjoyed them: to escape and depart from reality while she relished the pain. And Caoilainn had been escaping him for far too long.

"Not today, my love," he chuckled as his hand moved from her neck to caress her face. "I want you here with me. Try again."

Caoilainn sighed, a mere whimper that morphed into a wicked grin. "Then have your way with me, my King." She resigned all control. Alistair knew how much Caoilainn disliked surprises. They were evidence of her lack of power. And here, she welcomed them. _These changes have long been in order._

His arms returned to their position on either side of her. His head silently moved to her other ear. "Gladly," he whispered, grinning beside his blindfolded wife. Her arms bound well above her head, flickering candlelight made their shadows dance along the opposite wall. The rain blew against the windows, rattling the glass. Wind howled outside their room.

She felt his breath against her skin, heard him inhale and exhale. Subtle shifts in movement, changes in weight on their bed. Her senses activated as long as she was limited of her sight. The beating downpour outside made it even harder to hear his lesser movements to predict his actions. It forced her to accept whatever happened.

Then her body played tricks on her. Or maybe it was him. She felt, or so she thought, his breath against her chest, against her neck until she suddenly felt him kiss her belly. She released a small giggle that Alistair clearly took as incentive to continue. His lips brushed against her skin, spurring the reaction of her nerves.

A long pause followed. _He's making me wait. This is a test._ She calmed herself, diligently. Remembering to breathe as she attempted to listen for his actions, or for any orders he might give. None came. And then, she felt his mouth near her breast. Without warning, his lips met her nipple. She gasped. His tongue teased slowly until she acclimated to the sensation. Then his mouth came down to surround the pink flesh. Sensitive to his tongue as it lapped against her. She groaned at the torturous and pleasant feeling.

 _Just bite me._ She wanted his teeth against her, his hand around her neck or pulling her hair. Or to feel her carotid artery pulsing against his tongue as his teeth clenched her neck. She needed the physical discomfort to distract from the mental strain of all this affection. Caoilainn longed for pain though she knew he would not give it. Alistair had been all too consistent in following through with his statements since he found her in Skyhold.

The thoughts did not last long as she suddenly felt his hand slide up her inner thigh, causing her to moan inadvertently. His palm separated her legs just enough so he could cup her heat, applying pressure against the slick flesh that was already throbbing for his attention. Yearning for him. His fingers parted her lips, and he felt her wetness.

"Mm," she heard his short sound of approval.

Stroking her skin, he taunted her. His hand tactfully explored with familiar precision, deliberation. Running long lines along her slick folds. Her warmth spread by his fingers. Squirming, she rolled her hips to meet his hand, desperate for him to reach the center. To find her sensitive nub or her aching entrance.

His hand ceased, and she made a wordless whine. "Eager, are we?" He posed. She heard the smirk in his voice as he asked the question, one he asked often.

"Please," she begged.

"Please what?" His question filled with earnest as she sensed him moving.

She mewled quickly in reply. "Please touch me, Alistair." Her neck stretched in frustration; the knot of the blindfold pressed against the back of her scalp. She could not take it off.

He did not reply, nor touch her. But she felt him. Close to her. And smelled… herself.

"It's King Alistair," he reminded and purred an order. "Taste yourself."

"Yes, my King." She opened her mouth, expectantly waiting. Then his palm rest against her chin. His fingers found her lips, coated in her wet warmth and slid into her mouth. Her tongue met his digits, eloquently gliding along the length. And her mouth closed around them, her head tilted back. She sucked his fingers fervently; her body curling up to meet his arm as it hovered over her.

Alistair's movement was indefinable, but she suspected he liked this. She could hear him breathing purposely, patiently. And he allowed her to suck his fingers long after the taste of herself was absent.

"Perfect," he eventually rewarded. She opened her mouth allowing him to remove himself. Her tongue still pressed against his fingers until he reluctantly pulled away.

And again, silence. Waiting. Caoilainn gave the faintest pout, the result of frustrated and excited impatience. Though she could not see anything, the changes in light from the storm outside were noticeable. Strong rumbles of thunder echoed her heartbeat and the rain beat against the well-established fortress tirelessly. Weight shifted from the bed, he moved and she heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor between bouts of thunder. Then the bed lowered as he returned, but his location was different this time. Abruptly, Alistair's hands divided her legs. Quick motions with his direction led her legs to his shoulders. Heart pounding, panic over the overwhelming sensations she expected, her lip bitten and her breath held. Waiting.

Then his kisses found the heat between her legs, preceding his tongue that lovingly explored her drenched folds. She gasped loudly. Her hips rolled to meet him until his hands pressed against them, limiting their movement as he worked her body. Quickly, his tongue danced against her, teasing her entrance and flickering at her bundle of nerves. It was too much. But he gave her no choice but to breathe. To acclimate to the intense pleasure. His ardent persistence against her most sensitive area caused her back to arch. His control of her hips made them desire to buck even more.

"Alistair!" She screamed. "Can I finish, my King?" She pleaded, reluctantly. He would have to stop to answer, and she was not sure if that would happen before she did not have a choice. Her heart pounded and thunder shook the room.

He paused just for a moment to peer up from his mission. "No," he said vengefully. Then returned to lapping against her.

 _Damn it._ She whimpered. Willingly, her senses and effort did everything in her ability to stop the urge for motion of her hips. The great force required to stay her climax made her body tighten. She quivered, shaking. Her body perspired lightly from the battle this was to overcome. Caoilainn groaned, panting through her clenched teeth. Then the buildup plateaued. She sighed with relief and felt his smile widen. His tongue pulled away as his teeth just barely brushed her tenderness. Now hypersensitive to all sensations, including his breath. She giggled and squirmed at the feeling.

"That was impressive, my Queen," he rewarded her efforts with his voice, purring through the air that clung to her now sweaty body.

He was moving up from his position. Her legs stayed wide following his muscular sides, rejoicing the feel of his body between them as he crawled up to her. A hand met her wrists to keep them pinned to the bed. And his head neared hers. He kissed her again, this time with more force. Passionately, his confident mouth crashed against her pouting lips, their tongues warred against each other with delight.

His other hand found its way back to her heat. Fingers stimulated the senses that had calmed enough to furiously welcome his touch.

He pulled away from their kiss to lovingly growl in her ear. "You can finish now." And he worked her again. Heavy breathing, panting, that quickly crescendoed. Her body tightened, her hips rolled forward to him willingly.

She drew her breath in, holding at the top as she came. "Alistair," she groaned lowly and the howling wind echoed her. He continued to rub her relentlessly. Her body stopping all motion, frozen desperately for wave, after wave of her climax. His hand refused to cease until her hips lowered, her body involuntarily jerking from his touch. She exhaled and shuddered.

Determined, ready. Alistair took no time to decide how to move forward. He knowingly caressed her long, slender leg as he directed it over his shoulder. Caoilainn's other leg came out to his side to give him as much space as possible. She bit her lip again as she waited for him to enter. And he held her there, so he could observe: loving the look of this ferocious woman so prepared to feel him inside of her.

So he gave her that as he guided his length inside. She surrounded him with familiarity, taking him within herself. A place he had explored in similar fashion more times than he could count, and yet it was still exquisite. Her plump heat, swollen, hugged his length with fervor. And as if she had missed him, and this placement of their bodies more than she realized, her other leg wrapped around his torso. Caoilainn moaned lowly and his rushed inhales lingered at their crests before he exhaled. Their infatuated bodies collided, melding into one as he thrust.

He shuddered. The pleasure of feeling her from the inside, something long awaited and well deserved in their evening of intimacy, enthralled him. He kissed her raised leg softly as he rocked against her, welcoming the push of her hips against his.

Each breath, each rise and fall of her chest accentuated the round curves of her breasts; her arms tied above her head. He patiently slowed his movements, wanting the moment, this sight to last as long as it could. As he continued, the tumultuous storm outside of Skyhold drowned their moans. The steam on the window had beaded to water and traced lines as it dragged down to the sill. Alistair closed his eyes, reluctantly blocking the wondrous sight that was Caoilainn moaning softly in pleasure. Absorbing himself in the feel of her around him as his hips repetitively rolled into her with poise, reaching the places he knew would stimulate her. He was climbing, diligently, with discipline, savoring her body and its graceful acceptance of him within it. His breathing slowed. The veins on his forehead defined along with his focus, sweat misting on his body. The storm at its apex reverberated around them. Hard clinks of hale tinged against their window. Thunder boomed and grumbled, only to be followed with more loud booms.

Then Alistair felt her body tighten again. Caoilainn was close.

"Come with me," he murmured to her in a breathy growl, opening his eyes to watch her greedily. She whimpered and nodded her head blindly, her state of enjoyment stealing the words to reply.

She gasped, "Alistair." And flexed around his shaft. He blinked. Long, slow, blissful blinks under full lashes. Her fleshy slick heat held tight around him.

"Caoilainn," he muttered as his thrusts strengthened, reaching the top of his climax with a shudder. His length pulsed within her, expelling fully, exhausting all energy to release himself. Her moan requited his effort.

The storm was passing. He looked down to her, the woman he wooed under the most unlikely circumstances so many years ago. The woman that still knew all the ways to infuriate and entice him; the woman he loved passionately. Thunder quickly lessened to murmurs, mumbles that held little strength or intensity. He removed himself from her and let down her leg, then took off the blindfold and untied her arms. The flashes of lightning faded in the distance. His body came to rest against hers, and she adjusted to the weight. Adoringly, her hand came to his face, stroking his cheek and jaw with elegance. The rain softened to a light shower. Their bodies covered in sheen veils of sweat as they quickly fell asleep in each other's arms with no other words.

* * *

Just before dawn, the sound of activity in the courtyard woke them together, legs entangled, her head resting against his chest. Hesitantly, hoping the sounds might be a dream and they could remain like this longer, they opened their eyes then rolled on their sides to face one another. Before he could say anything, she pressed her lips against his. It was a pleasant surprise. She pulled from the long kiss with reluctance and smiled.

"Thank you, my King." She said simply, with no explanation of the depth of her statement, though he expected the gratitude was for more than just their coupling. At least he hoped. She leaned in and whispered. "I love you, Alistair."

"I love you, Caoilainn." He said through a smile. Then he watched her rise from the bed, naked, long, and elegant. She cleaned at the bucket, grinning to him occasionally as she used the same cloth he used on her the night before. He shifted up on the bed to observe proudly. His hands met to rest behind his head.

Eventually, he rose too and cleaned with a cloth and water before they dressed, making timid smirks and mischievous simpers to one another through the silence. The sunrise peering through their window was magnificent. The air crisp and clean expelled of all impurities from the violent storm the night before.

Wreckage of the weather was evident as they went into the courtyard. Foliage upturned, and the practice equipment knocked over. The camps outside of Skyhold for Ferelden, Highever, and Grey Warden troops had been the most impacted. But, as they learned in their training, mages used spells to fortify the encampments as best they could through the weather. The Inquisition forces were on task to clean up and pack for the upcoming expedition.

Alistair and Caoilainn watched the activity, prolonging their time together before they separated to their respective duties. Two Inquisition council members passed with a group, stopping to talk to the couple. Leliana and Josephine gave smirking glances at each other before looking to them. "We trust you had an excellent night, your Majesties," Josephine said cordially through an unreadable smile.

"And that the water you requested was to your liking," Leliana added, grinning evilly.

"Thank you," Alistair said curtly, uninterested in whatever the two women were trying to say with their expressions. Caoilainn's eyes were wide with shock but she remained silent.

As the two women walked away, they snickered to one another between whispers. Alistair turned to Caoilainn. "Leliana's gotten even nosier," he said, attempting to unite with Caoilainn against Leliana's subtle bullying.

When he met Caoilainn's eyes, his stomach tightened. She was furious; he could tell. "I can't believe you," she blamed and turned on her heels back to their room.

"Caoilainn," Alistair sighed and followed dutifully; determined to resolve this conflict to get back to the precious time they were sharing this morning.

She stormed back to the room, entering first and turning around to face him as he walked through the doorway.

"Yesterday, in the War Room!" Her volume rose as the door shut behind him. "That was so inappropriate and embarrassing. Inquisition meetings are not for you to use to get payback on me. You wasted their time and disrupted their meeting."

"Caoilainn, calm down," Alistair said steadily. His tone patient but frustrated. "It's over and everything is fine. See? We're all leaving for the Wilds today."

Her temper continued to rise, despite his attempts to calm her. "Alistair, you mocked me in front of them. I am a fucking Commander." Her voice desperately tried to convey the magnitude of what happened the day prior.

"Caoilainn, I'm sorry. That was not my intent," he continued to soothe. "Just sit down and we'll talk… calmly."

"I have an image to uphold as Warden Commander!" She yelled sharply, barking at him with her anger.

"And as Queen?" He snapped back quickly. His voice was low and the faintest hint of fury lit behind his eyes.

The question startled her and then stoked her rage; her tone elevated even more. "Yes!" She declared with exaggeration, the notes of derision ringing in each word. "As the Queen of Ferelden. The Queen to the great King Alistair!"

"Then fucking act like it!" He roared, the veins in his forehead prominent as his face turned red.

"Fuck you, Alistair," she growled with ferocity. He had never yelled at her like this before. Stunned, but her fury not diminished she paused before continuing. "How would you like me to do that? Come back to Denerim? Be the lovely Queen by your side? Seen and not heard? All while making the choices you don't want to out of sight of the rest of Ferelden?"

"No," he hissed through clenched teeth, unable to look her in the eyes.

"Then?" She asked loudly, her voice blaring against him. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Don't block me out, Caoilainn!" He yelled honestly, but he had no intention to hurt her with his words. It was evident in what he said. "You can stay Warden Commander if you want. I would never ask you to leave that. But Maker's fucking breath, Caoilainn," his eyes rolled and he looked to her, his voice still raised. "Give up Nathaniel."

* * *

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	16. Chapter 16: Sunrise

Caught stealing and conscripted by a passing Grey Warden recruiter in the Denerim market, Hale had listened to the hushed whispers and rumors of the other new recruits about this thing called 'the Joining' on their way to Vigil's Keep. Both the King and Queen of Ferelden were Grey Wardens and if a pair of pompous nobles who had servants to do so much as wipe their asses could live through it, it couldn't be that bad. So she thought.

Before they drank the darkspawn blood, the recruits came to find they might not make it through the ritual. _Well,_ she thought as she drank from the chalice, following some ridiculous creed, _just fucking try to kill me._

The sickness, nausea, all preceding the most intense blackout she had ever experienced followed. She thought she was dead. But what she saw. The flashes of darkspawn. Their hearts beat together, now in unison with hers, to some unseen thing much darker and more evil than she could ever imagine. It frightened her, although she would never admit that to anyone. She played it off as if it was nothing.

After the Joining, other recruits complained about hunger. But Hale adjusted. It wasn't that much different from starving on the streets of the Alienage. She rolled her eyes in response to those who bitched, moaning about the pains of an appetite that could not be satiated. _The whiney little Wardens that survived the horrors of the Joining,_ the feel of the taint spreading throughout their bloodstreams, and the ravenous hunger that occurred after fueled her dislike of all of them.

She distracted herself from the same changes by taking her rage out on them. Within the first night of her completed Joining, a conflict spurred between her and another recruit, now both Junior Wardens. The young man, a noble from Amaranthine-who likely assumed Hale Dalish from her vallaslin and ears- complained about the inadequate rations, saying it was as if they were being treated like Elves in the Alienage.

With no other provocation, she lunged over the table and punched the Junior Warden square in the jaw, repeatedly. When a Senior Warden came to stop the fight, she swung at him too, earning her a night in solitary confinement.

The rest of the Junior Wardens kept their distance from the volatile young woman from then on and the Warden Commander gave her duties to clean the kitchens until they departed for Skyhold. When she was selected to join the Senior Wardens for this small scouting mission, the other Junior Wardens created the rumor it was Warden Commander Cousland's plan to desert Hale in Orlais.

With reluctance, she joined the scouting group to the office of the Inquisition, interested in surprising her cousin whom she had learned took the role of Inquisitor. _This will be fun,_ Hale told herself knowing that Alanna would be stunned by the sight of her since it had been at least a year since Hale's last departure from the Lavellan clan. The last time she disappeared was just after receiving her vallaslin.

Alanna, as the First to the Keeper, made a special arrangement for Hale to prove her devotion to the Dalish and receive the facial tattoo. Hale assumed Alanna hoped that the spiritual ritual that included a day of silent meditation on the Elven gods and a symbolic purification of the body would ground Hale, ultimately encouraging her to stay with the Dalish clan. The only reason this ritual stopped once begun was is if the Elf could not tolerate the pain of the tattoo. Hale went along with the ritual, curious to see what changes in herself she might experience.

The pain from the tattoo was minimal. She had received a number of tattoos on other locations on her body in Denerim. This pain was nothing. And when asked about the god-design she chose, Falon'din, the god of death- she said little. To aid the souls of what she hunted to the afterlife- it was something she knew the more spiritual members of the clan would believe and appreciate. In actuality, she chose it hoping to connect with her deceased father, though she would tell no one her reasons. Though Hale was highly skeptical of the Elven gods and religion in general, she was also opportunistic. If this could help, she would try.

Infamous in the Lavellan clan, Hale had long upheld her status as a vagrant, disappearing and revisiting the clan when it suited her even since she was a kid, notorious for being crass and stubborn. Each time she left, she extinguished her cousin's hopes for Hale to find loyalty to their clan.

Reuniting with Alanna in the Skyhold War Room was indeed entertaining, especially Nathaniel's brevity with the Inquisitor. His confidence with her ultimately confirmed Hale's attraction to the Lieutenant.

After the Grey Wardens raucous night around the campfire near the Emprise, they continued on for two days. Traveling through Emprise du Lion as quickly as possible, they planned to hurry through the frigid climate to reach the temperate weather of the Emerald Graves.

"I have been looking for this everywhere," Damia said after she hitched her horse to a tree at their resting spot for the night on the outer edges of Emerald Graves. She pulled her coin purse from the bottom of her saddlebag as she took out her food for the night.

Nathaniel's eyes shot to Hale as she dismounted from her horse. She raised an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth turned in the slightest smirk. Hale had considered a few other attempts at pickpocketing her comrades, but each time she saw the opportunity, she checked to see Nathaniel's location. The Lieutenant, fetching as he was, seemed to always be at some other location of their camp with his arms crossed, watching with sharp eyes. Eventually, she gave up the idea that looting her fellow Wardens could still be an option.

After the group set up their camp, the Wardens gathered round to settle in for the night. The members took their food packs from their saddles bags and sat down.

"Great," Lisbeth, a human from Denerim that Hale perceived to be a woman of few words, spoke loud enough for the group to hear. She was the woman Damia pulled up to dance with her when Hale drummed a few nights prior. "More dried meat."

"Lieutenant," Damia called from where she sat. Her tone sounded slightly worried, and a bit annoyed. "I don't think the Inquisition packed these rations with Wardens in mind. I'm running low."

Hale's ears perked and her eager eyes darted back to Nathaniel. Diligent about eating light in spite of hunger, her food supply was still plentiful. But like a puppy excited for a chance to play, Hale heard only an opportunity to hunt. And as if he sensed the swift turn of her head in his peripheral, Nathaniel nodded to Hale as he replied to Damia. "Based on Val and Isenam's report on the area, perhaps the young huntress can catch us a ram… or even some nugs."

"That'd be splendid, hun." Damia's honey-colored eyes smiled as she looked to Hale, who winked back. Using the pet name had become a running joke between them.

"Tomorrow morning," Nathaniel added, his expression dry and humorless. "When it's safe."

Mouth gaping open in disbelief, Hale prepared to argue with Nathaniel but Damia shook her head to discourage. In an exasperated reply, Hale rolled her eyes and huffed, mumbling something like 'fine.'

Damia, the 28-year-old from Redcliffe took a liking to the 19-year-old Elven woman, and the pair had bonded since that night at the campfire, in several ways. Fortunately, neither had been given night watch duties so far and they took advantage of that. Hale had stealthily snuck into Damia's tent on over one occasion, the first night being when she returned to the campfire after her incident with Nathaniel. If anyone knew of their liaisons it was the Lieutenant as he always took the first and longest watch when the Wardens split up for the night. But he remained tightlipped about this information if he knew.

And tonight, after some time eating and washing up at a nearby stream, and the Wardens went to their tents, Hale followed the routine they had developed and crept into Damia's tent.

Senses always activated and hyper-vigilant, even in the act of pleasing Damia, Hale was certain she heard footsteps that were undoubtedly Nathaniel's stop outside Damia's tent. Her head between Damia's legs, devotedly, with more experience than one would expect for someone her age, Hale's tongue rolled quickly against Damia's nub. Damia wriggled and writhed with pleasure from Hale's techniques, panting quietly, attempting to muffle all noise. But the sounds from their activities were not all mutable, and though Hale heard the footsteps, she did not stop. Instead, her long middle finger entered Damia and applied skillful pressure. With unfortunately perfect timing, Damia climaxed and inadvertently called Hale's name in the process.

Awkward and uncomfortable coughing from outside the tent echoed Damia's soft cry. Though she was certain this could be another mark on her long list of insubordinations, Hale was not sure she minded the Lieutenant overhearing them. When Damia was finished, Hale grinned widely as she kissed her way back up to Damia's face. Hale whispered through a grin into Damia's ear, "We've been caught."

"You mean you've been caught," Damia whispered back, smiling. Her long auburn hair draped messily around her flushed face.

"It's yer sodding tent!" Hale rasped with amused annoyance.

The pair waited in silence for a few minutes until they heard the footsteps walk away. "You're fine, Hale. I think the Lieutenant fancies you," Damia assured, attempting to relax any anxieties Hale might have for getting in trouble.

Hale gave a short, breathy laugh. "Well, that's good for you then, innit?" She minimized the excitement that stirred from the confirmation of Hale's own hopeful suspicion that the Lieutenant might be fond of her.

Stretched along each other, the pair joked, teased, and spoke about their pasts. Hale remained reserved in her disclosure. While they spoke, Damia enjoyed tracing the lines of Hale's vallaslin. They also discussed their friendship. And both agreed that the fun they were having was indeed only that; that they were simply friends and nothing more.

After some time, Hale departed from Damia's tent to head back to her own. She tried to listen for the Lieutenant, timing her exit to avoid being caught with as much accuracy as she could, considering the circumstances. As the tent flap opened and she gingerly skulked the shadows of the encampment back to her bed, she heard another cough. A stern, purposeful clearing of the throat triggered Hale to peer to her side for the source. Though she was certain she knew what she would see when her eyes landed. On Nathaniel.

She froze in her tracks. His gaze, or maybe glare, looked both entertained and serious. One eyebrow raised, questioned her next move and challenging her to dare take another step. After a few long moments of this staring contest, when Nathaniel made no other comment, she made one stride without breaking eye contact. Her grin spread as he remained silent. She continued walking with obnoxious insolence, her feet silent with each step.

As she neared her tent, her back turned to the Lieutenant. She heard his voice from behind. "Thin ice, Hale." She froze again, waiting to see if there might be a reprimand for her actions. "You're safe to hunt before daybreak."

Slow blinks in gratitude, her body eased with relief for not being in trouble. But then she noticed as he stood some distance behind her, certain he was still watching, her heart was fluttering wildly; a knot was twisting in her stomach. The Lieutenant _had_ to like her. Not that she cared. But again, she was getting away without a reprimand _and_ she got to hunt in the morning. The gift of a hunt being far more prized than he realized.

Standing still for just a moment, waiting for any other words from Nathaniel, she heard him move. And as if that were permission for her to leave, she entered her own tent and went to bed without even changing out of her light armor.

The next morning well before dawn, she awoke to the sound of voices and tuned into the conversation as best she could. Eager to get out and hunt, she listened to make sure there was no reason for her to delay.

"… I feel it," she heard snippets of the low, gruffness of Nathaniel's voice in reply to whoever he spoke, "… not darkspawn."

The voice that responded was one mage, Phillipa, a human woman from Highever who had the last watch before dawn. "… then?"

A long pause followed. Hale was not sure if the Lieutenant was whispering lower than she could hear or if he was thinking about his answer. "… Another Warden," he said after some time.

Nate's answer confirmed the lack of any impediments to her hunt. So Hale equipped her bow and quiver full of arrows and snuck out unseen. Fueled largely by the desire to avoid any awkward morning small-talk that might come with their attention, she preferred silence when she was preparing to hunt. It allowed her mind to stay out of her head and tune into nature around her. Being forced to talk would disrupt that entirely.

Long, light strides took her from the camp in darkness through thin clouds of low-lying fog. She headed into the denser forest. It was much more alive here than where they camped the previous nights. Vibrant greens of the plants and trees surrounded and the trees were more suitable for climbing. Ferns padded the ground, absorbing the impact of her steps effectively; she moved in silence. Senses aligned with the environment, Hale was aware of her distance from the camp. She chose her location based on the plant types and old tracks indicating the likelihood of animals crossing this path. Limber and strong, she climbed a nearby tree with grace. Higher and higher, she rose until she was satisfied with her field of view.

Then she waited. And waited. Her bow and an arrow stretched across her lap to be quickly lifted, nocked and aimed. Talented at knowing the exact placement of her armor and equipment to eliminate the chance of making noise, Hale took quiet stretches from her spot in the tree.

Finally, she spotted some nugs scurrying the forest floor beneath her. It was still dark out, but the pending sunrise was close. The light of stars was no longer visible through the canopy, birds were singing, and the fog had cleared. Quick barely audible whispers of motion allowed her to lift her bow, nock the arrow and aim. Maintaining paced deliberate breaths, she followed the movement of the small, oblivious creature down the sight of the arrow. And on an exhale, she released. The instant whoosh of the projectile flew through the air and met its target.

By a fraction of a second, a soft thud preceded the screeching of the nug she shot and the others darted away from the killed creature. Without another thought, she reached behind to set an arrow, aimed and shot at another nug before it left her field of view. Another short, loud wail followed.

Hale grinned to herself, pleased with the ease of her successful hunt. The other nugs had already scurried away and were not worth the effort to follow from her current position. But as she readied herself to climb down the tree, she sensed movement of something larger. Human. She paused and peered through the branches, still well above the immediate periphery of the person below.

It was Nathaniel. He seemed to look for something. _He looking for me?_ She wondered to herself, partially annoyed and partially flattered at his attention.

The rest of the woods were still, the nugs had all scurried and any surrounding wildlife had darted away after her successful shots. The sound of a pin dropping could have been heard, even on the fern covered ground.

Unaware of the dead nugs, Nate wandered on. With enrapt attention, she followed him with her eyes and noiselessly moved from limb to limb of the trees in the process. Her focus was instantly disrupted as she heard more signs of activity. Another human who she realized as he neared was not nearly as careful with his movements as Nathaniel.

"Warden?" Nathaniel called cautiously as the human neared.

"Brother!" The Warden replied, but his accent was different. He sounded Orlesian.

The Orlesian donned the traditional Grey Warden armor, just like what she wore. Hale's heart pounded in her throat. Something was wrong. She could sense Nathaniel's suspicion as the other Warden saluted him and then went to grab Nathaniel's hand. Before Nathaniel could pull away, the Orlesian Warden grabbed Nate and pulled him in for a hug.

Nathaniel tried to push, then instantly, the Lieutenant grasped his head with both hands and yelled loudly. It was as if there was something crawling under his skull he could not get out.

Hale's mouth dropped open, but she caught herself before she gasped. What occurred next was a confusing jumble of movements. Nathaniel's eyes looked to the Orlesian with accusation.

"What did you do to me?!" He yelled as he attempted to reach for a dagger at his belt. But his balance was off, and his body swayed as if he were drunk.

"That was the Calling, Brother of the Grey," the Orlesian answered calmly, interrupting Nate's movements by grabbing his fist so that Nate could not move to grab the dagger. "Clarel is gone, but those of us who are left must join Corypheus to end all Blights."

"No!" Nathaniel yelled, attempting to hit the Orlesian Grey Warden with his balled fist. But the Warden sidestepped and locked Nate's arms behind his back. His bind on the Lieutenant was brief. In what seemed to be a conscious moment, Nathaniel kicked backward and hit the Warden's shin, causing him to instinctively reach toward the wound. But in a quick turn, Nathaniel dove and met the Orlesian Warden's head with his own. The resounding thud of the impact was audible, even to Hale. But before Nate could take full advantage of his lead, he doubled over in pain, again grabbing at his head as if the impact had reminded him of the 'Calling' that the Orlesian had informed. _What the fuck is the Calling?_

The Orlesian Warden recovered fast though covering the place where his head was now bleeding. He took steps toward Nathaniel and reached, his mouth open, about to speak.

The swoosh of an arrow from above pierced through the side of the Orlesian's armor into his chest. Stunned, the Warden stood motionless for a minute, his mouth gaping. He looked down to the puncture, touched the blood that seeped from it and studied the red on his hand.

Confusion. The sight of blood from a wound that appeared from nowhere caused him to sway.

Hale took the opportunity of the Orlesian Warden's lack of movement to call to Nathaniel. "Lieutenant? You okay?" She asked with concern. Nathaniel did not answer, as if he could not hear her from the pain in his head. A minute later, she called again, this time daring to use his first name. "Nathaniel?... Nate?" Saying it made her stomach flip, as though she was breaking some divine rule by calling him anything other than Lieutenant. He still did not answer.

As the Orlesian Warden rocked where he stood, he glanced up to Hale in the trees. His mouth opened and closed as if to speak but no words came. Then, he coughed and gargled. Blood bubbled from his mouth, dripping down his chin. And suddenly, it was over; the Orlesian fell to his knees, then forward to the ground.

Swift, Hale lowered a few branches and dropped down. Her feet landing in the softest thud on the forest floor a safe distance from Nathaniel. She walked to him carefully. Though her concern for the Lieutenant was strong, she feared what she would find.

Dawn came to the woods but the dense forest and brush in the early morning did not illuminate the clearing, adding to Nate's confusion. He stumbled, reaching out for support from a tree and grabbed at his head with the other. Red, slick, wet trails on his head reminded him of the fight.

Hale stepped closer and his eyes darted to her. "What… what happened?" He asked, with bewilderment as if he did not understand the violent events of the last few minutes.

"You were… you were attacked by that Orlesian," she said as she gestured to the dead man. Her voice was cautious, unsure of how he might respond.

"Why-?" He asked, then he groaned. He looked to the dead Warden lying near them. "Damn it! What did I do?"

"You fought dirty, Lieutenant," she replied smugly and snorted. "I was impressed. But that didn't stop him so I loosed an arrow into the whoreson."

"Fuck," he replied shortly, with no other words. His consciousness seemed to return, but his eyes squinted as his thumb and middle finger rested at his temples.

"He was attacking you," she replied assuredly, insisting that her course of action was the only option. "Looked like he was gonna kill you or take you back to that Corypheus wanker."

"Damn it," he said to no one in particular, as if he had not heard a word she said. She suspected he was holding information that would make this entire incident far less confusing.

"What do we do now?" Hale asked as innocently as she could manage. Her next course of action would have been to hide the body, take the nugs and pretend nothing ever happened.

"Leave the body. It's done. We have to get back to camp," Nathaniel replied. Hale's eyebrows rose with surprise at the simplicity of his plan. "We will discuss how to proceed."

"Yes, sir," Hale said respectfully, curious about what 'proceeding' meant.

She insisted on collecting her arrows and the nugs before they returned to the camp. The sun was now rising, the prominent colors from the sunrise just visible through the canopy of trees. A few of the Ferelden Grey Wardens had awoken and packed their belongings. As long as Nathaniel's tent was still up, they knew not to rush.

"Come to my tent," Nathaniel ordered Hale without looking at her.

She followed without a word, though her heart fluttered again and the knot in her stomach was noticeable. _It's not to plough you, arsehole. He just wants to figure out how to 'proceed.'_ She scolded herself for her body's reaction to his order as she followed Nathaniel into his tent.

It smelled strongly of him. Earthy. Clean but sweet, like mountain air and freshly cut hay. She scanned the tent. He was neat. His bedroll was made, his clothing and other belongings tidily stored in his bag. It differed greatly from her tent. Her bedroll was in whatever state she last used it, the layers of blankets usually disarrayed; her clothing strewn about until she threw it in her bag or put it on.

Hesitant, she waited for his direction as he silently stood across from her in the small tent. With his arms folded across his chest looking deep in thought, he took his time as he spoke.

"Have you heard of the Calling?" He asked as though the words were fragile. She wondered if he had been asking himself how to ask this question.

"I heard that Orlesian telling you about it," she answered honestly. "What is it?"

Nathaniel sighed and briefly explained the Calling to Hale. Her eyes widened as he spoke, her eyebrows raised. His tone was almost apologetic as if he did not enjoy telling her this information.

Hale shrugged. "Good. Wasn't planning on making it to 50 anyway. But what's it to do with the Orlesian Warden, if he was actually a Warden?"

Nathaniel smirked at her response, pleased with Hale's cynical optimism. Then he sighed again. "He was suffering from a false Calling," Nathaniel said and explained what little he knew about the false Calling and the reason she could not experience it. "The taint is so new to your blood, just like how you cannot sense the connection to other Wardens. The Ferelden Grey Wardens learned to overcome the false Calling when we first sensed it a year ago."

Hale nodded. It was all making sense. She knew that the bond of blood the Commander discussed so often in her speeches would not affect her yet. "So," she started. "How the fuck are you supposed to go into Orlais if this false Calling will fuck with yer head?"

He smiled as she cursed. His smile. A smirk that made her stomach twist and her head fuzzy. She realized she would be willing to do a number of things to get that smirk from him. "We can't touch the remaining corrupted Grey Wardens. Ideally, we stay as far from them as possible. You, young Warden, will be safe either way," Nathaniel replied.

Hale nodded and took a deep breath, processing all this information. "So what's it to do with me? It all sounds like stuff you should tell the other Senior Wardens." She asked skeptically, unsure of why he brought her to his tent.

Frowning, Nathaniel lowered his voice, his brow creased, serious, reminded of why she was there. "You broke protocol. You've killed a Grey Warden," Nathaniel scolded. "And you did so without my order."

"Yeah, I did," Hale gave a stubborn reply. "And you can bloody well thank me."

"Damn it, Hale. We don't just kill other Grey Wardens. You could have shot to debilitate him. We could have taken him for questioning and gathered more information. We might have found a cure for the corruption."

"But he was going to-" she defended, but Nate interrupted her sternly.

"It doesn't matter, Hale," he said with authority. His frown, his expression dark, disappointed, and almost angry. Hale's stomach dropped as he chided her. "Grey Wardens kill darkspawn. Killing humans is a last resort and certainly never our own brethren."

She squinted as he spoke. _Really?! I saved this bastard's fucking life, and he's angry with me for it?_ Nate's words stoked her rage. "Fuck that, Lieutenant! You were out of yer mind and he was making it happen." Her voice raised, and he tried to hush her.

"Silence, Warden," he said through clenched teeth.

She didn't respond. The sound of her teeth grinding as her lips pursed was audible in the tent. She glared at him for a second before she turned on her feet and left in a rush. The tent flap swung back in from the force with which she fled.

She ran from the encampment. It was still in the process of being packed. Now early morning, the sky through the shade of trees was blue and clear. Head dizzy with fury and heart heavy with the sadness underneath, she jogged to a nearby clearing. Misunderstood, as usual. And worse, by the Lieutenant. He did not realize how scared she was for him. _Stop being so fucking weak!_ She shamed herself as angry tears streamed down her face. Resentfully she wiped them away.

A moment later, she heard the sound of a man's steps jogging up behind her and she turned around to face the Lieutenant.

He ran straight to her, stopped, and glared. He was panting from the jog, but his voice was strong as it carried through the forest. "You do not walk away from me!" He yelled. "You report to me, Warden, and you do not walk away unless you are ordered to do so."

Nostrils flaring, Hale's lips remained closed, tightly pursed and her chin jutted. Her weight shifted to one leg in a defensive posture and her brow furrowed furiously.

"Are you even committed to the order?" Nathaniel asked in annoyance. He neared her, standing within arms reach. She could touch him, smell him, feel his body's warmth. But his chastising continued, "You can act like a Grey Warden and follow my commands...or would you rather just stay a thief?"

Before Nate acknowledged her motions, Hale's fist swung around and hit his jaw, hard. His head spun with and he staggered from the impact. Nathaniel shifted his mouth and touched his lip where it bled. When he looked back to Hale, she was flexing her hand and shaking it out. Her eyes were wide with fear when they looked up to meet his but she did not speak. Having seen his blood on his hand, he glared at her.

"Go." He ordered lowly, rage boiling beneath the surface. "Pack your tent."

Without another word, Hale turned and ran back to the encampment. Her chest tightened, heart pounding in her head and her face was hot with mixed emotions. It was as though her unusual ally had betrayed her with his harsh words. Even so, she knew her reaction was inexcusable. Hale was still angry with the Lieutenant and afraid of what consequences might follow, but most of all, she was saddened to have burned the bridge with the man she wanted.


	17. Chapter 17: The Inquisition Marches

Her mouth opened, luscious lips again found wanting for words. All in response to him; how he acted and who he was- the King. Her commitment to the belief he was weaker than she, less willful and more inclined to bend to her whims proved aimless; nothing more than a hopeless attempt to preserve some remaining shred of her own dignity.

 _Act like a queen and give up Nathaniel._

The simplicity of this requirement was overwhelming. And yet, it felt like Alistair was asking her to heal a wound without elfroot. _Why is this so hard?_ She wondered, knowing that Alistair's demand was entirely reasonable and her brokenness the only cause for feelings that said otherwise.

She watched him waiting for an answer, or a reaction from her to his words. But he grew impatient and muffled defeat and disappointment spread across his face. A deepening frown and angry furrow of his brow distracted from the sorrowful shine in his eyes. Those eyes, she admired longingly. Their deep hazel, so warm, welcoming, and full of hurt. They were searching her for an answer until he looked away.

"I've got King things to do," he said calmly, his tone even. She caught the aversion, what she heard as disgust under his breath. But his voice quaked as he looked back to her, "I can't imagine not loving you, Caoilainn. Not ever."

Then he turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him and her body flinched at the noise. She was alone.

Overwrought with sadness, an emptiness drastically different from the connection they had less than an hour ago caused her to tremble. One arm wrapped around her waist and the other lifted to her eyes as she shook. The pit in her stomach sank deeper. And her chest felt pain as though it was caving inward and some force from within claimed her ability to move. She cried hot tears that seemed to burn her face as they fell. Gasping for breath, as if drowning in despair, she tried to keep her head above the waves of desperation. Anxious thoughts convinced her she had somehow lost the man that just promised, as he always did, to love her eternally.

All the ways in which she had failed immensely as a queen and as his wife flooded her mind, reminding her of her expansive imperfections. How in the simplest of terms, at their essence, she did not compare to him. Alistair, for all his faults, was a genuinely good person. And Caoilainn was not. _I'll never be the woman he deserves._

Alistair heard her sobs from the other side of the wall as he leaned against it. His own tears welled, and just as they fell, he rubbed them from his eyes with his hand. Heart heavy, the sick weight of loneliness seeping through an endless hole aching in his chest. He stayed the urge to burst through the door, to hold her, soothe her until both their tears ceased. Because that would mean continuing to excuse the affair. It would require him to go back to pretending. And he was not willing to pretend anymore. So he listened, lovingly, from the other side of the wall until her sobs peaked. He imagined he could hear her breathing as she settled. _She needs to make this choice._

With a deep breath of his own he proceeded to the Ferelden troops to march.

Sobs lessened, but the sinking feeling in her chest prevailed. Both hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, red with heat from crying. A deep breath, followed by another helped her center.

Activity and the sound of rallying troops from the courtyard reminded her of her duties. Responsibility to her order, the battle ahead required her attention. She straightened out her armor, fixed her braid tighter. _Chin up. Tits out._ And marched to the Grey Warden forces.

* * *

The Inquisition and its allies began their march to the Arbor Wilds in pristine weather. The air clean and crisp with not a cloud in the sky after the previous night's storm. Waves of men split into sections, troops led by their commanders and the Inquisition as a whole led by Cullen Rutherford. On opposite sides of the mass of fighters, the Warden Commander led her soldiers, and the King of Ferelden led his. Both sat tall on their horses, the rumbling earth of the surrounding troops echoing the strength with which they marched. Alistair's compliment was outmatched head to head by the Inquisition's massive collection of armies, but their skill, dedication and loyalty made them no less formidable. Contrasting by appearance in every way, Caoilainn's ragtag collection of Grey Wardens formed its own living, breathing being. They expanded and contracted, twisted and turned through the environment like an animal, communicating wordlessly from within.

Strength in numbers multiplied many times over joined to fight for a purpose they all knew as a fundamental truth. That preventing Corypheus from gaining forces, to stop his access to resources that could make him even more threatening to Thedas brought them together from across the realm. Orlesians marched alongside Ferelden Royal Army and soldiers from Highever. Grey Wardens from Orlais who survived Adamant uncorrupted joined their Ferelden brethren. They were bonded by the same connection, despite their fealties on either side of the Frostbacks.

Though they were just on opposite ends of this mass of moving fighters, Caoilainn and Alistair were worlds apart. She often tried to spy him from across the sea of soldiers, but he was indefinable from her view. Fear she may have lost the inherent ability to spot him amongst a crowd increased as the sense of heartache crept in. And Alistair did the same, his eyes scanned the other Grey Wardens for the lone Commander on her horse to no avail.

The march continued, keeping a steady pace as if to a drum. They made their way through narrow mountain passages, taking nearly the rest of the day considering the magnitude of armies traveling. Eventually, as night fell, they reached the base and set up their camps. Again, Ferelden and Grey Warden forces stayed on opposite sides of the massive encampment.

Caoilainn knew Alistair was only a walk away. But as she gazed across the encampment, the distance seemed insurmountable. The gaping void in her heart seemed to grow as she studied the space between them. _What is wrong with me?_ Five years spent avoiding him from her base at Vigil's Keep did not feel as impossibly far as this.

She was careful not to let her emotional strife impact her Wardens. Through the day trip she was consistent in her orders and spoke with her officers. Commanding came easily and provided respite from the sadness.

Grateful to be off her horse after a day of riding, and once the camp was set, she settled into the Warden Commander's tent. It felt far emptier than usual and far larger than she remembered. And though she knew she needed the space, the loneliness was haunting.

She removed her light armor and settled onto her cot. The thin tent walls did little to shield from the sound of a large camp settling as she stared at the ceiling. Then the fleeting question if he did the same from wherever he rested in the encampment triggered her tears. More tears, shed in longing for Alistair. She had cried more for him the last few days than all their years apart. As if somehow tears of her denied mourning had been stored and were finally released. Layers of sheets and blankets shifted with her slender frame as she rolled over, curling up on the cot to sob silently until she fell asleep. _I love you, Alistair._

Elsewhere in the camp, in the Ferelden section, Alistair lay on his cot staring at the ceiling. Pools welled in his eyes and he blinked them away before they fell. _I love you. Always._

* * *

The march continued for days, following a less direct route than the scouts preceding them. Ensuring they had adequate ability to navigate the environments and room for their armies to rest at night, the expedition was slow moving. After some nights as the trek carried them into the Emprise du Lion, the forces rested. The Inquisitor called a meeting of the commanders and some of her council. Cullen and Morrigan and a few of the Inquisitor's personal party joined. The other members of the Inquisition had remained at their base in Skyhold.

Caoilainn attended, her chest tight with worry, fear from the uncertainty of how Alistair would act toward her. It was a simple meeting. The Inquisition's commander checked with all other military leaders on pacing, the time he expected to cover the distance based on this rate, and reports of the surrounding area. Attendees of this meeting said little as Cullen addressed them.

But Caoilainn's eyes could not help but scan for Alistair as he spoke. She found him, staring in earnest and listening intently to Commander Rutherford. The sight made her eyes water, tears tempted to pour in excess to release the confused emotions she harbored.

As the meeting concluded, the commanders bowed and some spoke to one another. She spotted Alistair again chatting with Cullen. Smiling. Her heart sank. It may have been a sad smile. Or perhaps a pleasant smile with sad emotions somewhere underneath. But nonetheless, he was smiling _. He doesn't need me_. Caoilainn involved herself in what seemed mindless small talk with the Elf, Solas. He carried on about Elven history, and had her mind been in a different place, she may have been interested.

Then she spotted Alistair preparing to leave the tent. He bowed to the room, to the Inquisitor and Cullen specifically, thanking them for their time and then departed. Not once did he make eye contact with Caoilainn. The sadness, the sheer longing for his loving gaze pulled her to follow. But stubborn will and her own frustration, what was building into genuine anger grew inside. _But am I angry with him or myself?_ She refrained from following and shortly thereafter, she departed for her own tent.

As she arrived, she saw a shadowy figure near the entrance.

"'Tis interesting to think the King is ignoring the Queen this time," a familiar voice sang from the shadows. Caoilainn recognized the source instantly.

"Morrigan," Caoilainn responded flatly. "Can I help you?"

"I am here for you, my friend," Morrigan answered calmly, but the slightest condescension in her voice was present as usual. "What ails the royal couple?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Caoilainn's answer was short, not because the desire to confide in her friend was absent but because she feared if she started she would fall apart. Caoilainn fought the heaviness in her head that urged her to shut her eyes and never open them. She took a few steps toward Morrigan.

"Of course not," Morrigan said gently, her arms opening in welcoming gesture as Caoilainn cautiously neared. With no other words, Caoilainn fell into Morrigan's arms and held her tightly. Neither woman had much to say, but the physical contact spoke volumes. Fully equipped with her armor and weapons, Caoilainn's head rested against Morrigan's nearly bare shoulder. A much needed sigh escaped from Caoilainn's lips as Morrigan gently wrapped her arms around Caoilainn.

"I'm scared, Morrigan," Caoilainn admitted without releasing from the embrace. "I'm scared I'll never be what he sees in me."

"I know," Morrigan echoed softly, feeling the authenticity of her friend's admission. It was a glimmer of the passionate young woman Morrigan befriended ten years ago. "You may never be. But you can try; he will love you, regardless."

Caoilainn sighed again, "I know."

Morrigan pulled away from the hug and held Caoilainn's shoulders with caring pressure. "I will enter the Temple with the Inquisitor in a few days," she spoke with delicate solemnity and studied Caoilainn's eyes. "Do you still seek the cure? Do you truly wish to have his child?"

Caoilainn held a long, pregnant pause. The answer to the question came instantly, and she searched herself for any doubt to her motives. With her mind, body, and soul aligned she took another deep breath and replied.

"I do."

* * *

**I value your feedback! Please let me know what you think of this chapter with a review!


	18. Chapter 18: Appetite

The loud song of birds announced the late morning. Bright sunlight peeked through breaks in the tree canopy on the outskirts of the Emerald Graves. The Grey Warden encampment was completely broken down and horses packed, save for two tents.

The events of the morning proved complicated. Nate well knew of the need to report to Caoilainn the details of the attack he suffered at the hands of an Orlesian Grey Warden. She would not be pleased with the immersion in politics at Weisshaupt this would require. Granted, the Orlesian Warden was corrupted, a traitor. He believed in the false Calling that Weisshaupt had refused to acknowledge, even with Clarel's request. _Perhaps they already know about these corrupted Wardens?_ Caoilainn's explanation a year ago had been minimal, and he knew not to ask for more information. He questioned how she would process news of Hale's shot.

Nathaniel returned to camp alone. The blood on his head had dried and his lip swollen, but he was conscious. A headache from the forced Calling throbbed behind his eyes, but it decreased as he walked, breathing the clean air. His frown, creased brow, and stomp of his boots against the fern covered forest floor all illustrated his general bad mood.

An anger fumed within him. Rage at the young Elf woman No, girl. Only 19, she was immature, reckless, disobedient, and for some reason he let all her behaviors slide. And in spite of it all she made him hungry. He pinpointed the feeling a few nights prior. The seething and salacious tug from his chest increased when he thought of her. It was distracting. Frustrating. And his eyes kept finding their way to the hunter. True, he had a reason. She was deviant. He needed to watch her for pickpocketing other Wardens, even though she had not stolen again since the night near the Emprise. But that did not stop the tug, like an excited weight in his chest that became stronger as he watched or when she was near. And somehow, he kept finding her close by.

And hearing her with Damia. Multiple times. _It's like she's doing this on purpose._ Despite this thought, he did not stop them. He could have interrupted, threatened with reprimands and ordered them back to their tents, or spoken with them before they rested for the night. Fraternizing on a mission happened, often. He was guilty himself, and not just with Caoilainn. While not strictly forbidden, had it been any other Warden, he would have stopped them.

From what he heard from their liaisons, Hale was generous and eager. It seemed she gave far more often than she received. And that too infuriated him.

A woman had never made him so insatiably irate since he met Caoilainn all those years ago. He realized this, and it contributed to his futile attempts to keep distance from Hale. Though his relationship with Caoilainn was not exclusive, a matter of convenience, they harbored a connection he shared with no one else. The Inquisitor's cousin, a Junior Warden, and only 19, Hale was off limits. Just like Caoilainn.

But Caoilainn never punched him. Hard. It was a decent hit, particularly for such a small woman and this riled his conflict as he walked through the camp.

Lisbeth paused as she strapped the last of her belongings to her horse. He passed and she noticed the Lieutenant's arrival, disheveled, covered in blood and with a busted lip.

"Damn, boss. You look like shit," she said roughly.

Nathaniel gave nothing more than a glare as he walked with determination into his tent.

"Well, fuck you too," she muttered to herself after the flap closed, assuming him out of earshot.

"Lisbeth!" Nathaniel yelled, unseen. "You'll care for the horses when we get to the forward camp!"

She mouthed 'damn it!' Then looked questioningly to Damia for an explanation of his bad mood. Damia, packing the last of her belongings, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head and mouthed back 'I don't know'.

In unison, both of their eyes shot to Hale who had just arrived at the camp a few minutes prior. Hale, removing the stakes from her tent, avoided eye contact with anyone. Interested, Damia's brow wrinkled in question but she did not dare to ask Hale for information. At least not as long the Lieutenant was in such a foul mood. Instead, Damia finished loading her horse and joined Hale in packing quickly and quietly. On the other side of the camp, Isenam and Philippa joined Nathaniel in packing his tent without inquiry.

Still frustrated, but having cleared his head, Nathaniel called the group to circle before they mounted. He explained the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the corrupted Warden, how the attack occurred and the resulting brawl. Nathaniel gave Hale credit for stopping the Orlesian Warden. She noticed he left out their private argument, allowing the busted lip to be explained by the fight with the Orlesian Warden. Finally, Nathaniel explained what he thought they should do to protect themselves from this false Calling. "Like we learned to do a year ago, band together with your minds. There's no need for any of us to become corrupted. We will be on guard when we near the Temple to reduce the chance of meeting any more of these Wardens. Stay in tune with your senses and each other."

None of the Grey Wardens had any questions, nor more to add. They mounted their horses and set forth to the Inquisition camp in the Emerald Graves.

* * *

The Wardens rode harder to make up for their late departure. Trees whirred by each of them as they spread out through the forest covering more distance this way than staying in file. Instinctively, their horses jumped fallen logs and dips in the ground. The warmer temperatures caused them to sweat as they galloped but they arrived at the Inquisition camp well before nightfall. Inquisition soldiers were welcoming and aided the Grey Wardens to set up their tents.

Once her quarters were set, Lisbeth silently brushed the horses. Without request, Hale cleaned their hooves and Damia gathered food and water to nourish the creatures. All three women's eyes shot to Nathaniel for any potential reaction. Since the task was Lisbeth's punishment for her language earlier, the women feared he might disapprove of Damia and Hale aiding.

Though he knew their eyes scanned him for a reaction, Nathaniel gave none. Instead, he measured the Inquisition camp. Tables, covered in supplies, maps, and well equipped with necessary tools to fix equipment surrounded the center. A well-tended campfire was burning steadily. Scouts milled in and out, keeping constant surveillance on the surrounding area. _Finally, I need a night off._

Activity quieted, the camp settled down as twilight approached. The birds no longer sang with such fervor. Occasional songs sounded from the trees with less and less frequency as the camp grew darker and the temperature cooler. Members took turns bathing at a nearby stream and then joined around the encampment. The campfire crackled steadily, the flames reaching up and dancing in front of the Wardens and a few Inquisition scouts who surrounded the campfire. Of those surrounding, Hale was not present. Nathaniel had noticed her silence, her downward glances that evening as they set up camp. It was as though she were embarrassed or ashamed or both.

This conflicted him more. Part of him agreed with what he assumed she felt. _It's inappropriate to punch a commanding officer._ And another part wanted to let her off the hook. _But she saved me._

Sitting with the divided desires and not acting on them, he decided instead to take advantage of his lack of duties that evening, thanks to the Inquisition scouts. The Inquisition had stored bottles of wine in a crate under one table and with permission from the requisition officer, he grabbed one and sat on the ground to drink. Wearing only his tunic tucked loosely into his breeches, Nathaniel stretched out his long, sinewy frame. His back leaned against a log, forcing him to acknowledge the tension throughout his body. The days of riding were finally catching up to him and the incident with the Orlesian Warden had swelled as a knot on his head. And every time his tongue found the wound on his lip, the result of being hit by the Hale, he thought of her.

It made his lustful rage grow. So he drank to calm it. The alcohol soothed his nerves, relaxing his muscles, and blurred the thoughts in his mind. He observed the activity of his small band of Wardens as they settled around the fire with him.

Isenam and Val, free from their usual charge of scanning the area around the encampment, played drinking games as they chatted. The mages, Philippa and Aidan, were speaking quietly with one another near a table. Finished with her chores with the horses, Lisbeth joined Gunnar, a Honnleath-born man, in a game of dice. They drank along with Saeris and his sister Ashiwyn, Dalish twins from the Brecilian Forest. Lisbeth had taught the group how play and Ashiwyn waited to challenge the winner of this round. The camp seemed quieter without Hale. Her drumming and livelihood often brought the group together. But he noticed Damia was not present either. _Figures._

* * *

The noises of the campfire drowned out their talking as Hale and Damia shared Damia's bedroll. Having noticed Hale's demeanor as they cared for the horses, Damia offered her company, a caring ear, and a needed distraction. Though she knew the camp would realize their absence, Damia knew Hale needed a friend. They settled into Damia's tent. Both women removed their outer layers of armor, resting in their tunics and leather breeches. Hale laid her head on Damia's belly and Damia tucked her chin to meet Hale's sad gaze. Delicate fingers allowed Damia to trace the lines of Hale's vallaslin.

"What is going on with you and the Lieutenant?" Damia asked softly, curious but detached from the answer.

Hale blinked and looked away, blushing. The usually aggressive young woman was clearly uncertain and nervous, Damia noticed. Hale studied her hands as she toyed with them. "Nothing. There's nothing with me and the Lieutenant." Her answer came with faint tones of regret as if she wished her statement were not true.

Gently, Damia snorted and lifted Hale's chin with her hand to reconnect their gaze. "Right, yeah. I know you like him and now you saved him! But there's something you two aren't talking about."

Stomach twisting with excitement and worry, Hale struggled between giggling and crying in response to the question. If only the answer was scandalous as Damia suggested by her tone. "It ain't like that," Hale replied shortly. Besides her embarrassment to losing her temper with Nathaniel, Hale feared backlash from her brethren if they discovered the lack of consequences she received.

Damia insightfully observed Hale, having spent enough time with the young huntress to feel confident in reading her expression. "Wait…" Damia pondered out loud. "You did something bad, didn't you?"

Hale looked away and sighed.

"Tell me!" Damia prompted, now ardent to gain this information.

"Damia…" Hale sighed.

"Hale," Damia sternly taunted.

"Fine," Hale said in a curt tone as she rose to kneel at Damia's side. "You know what? I fucking slugged him. Right in the mouth. I slugged the sodding Lieutenant."

Damia's forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows rose in surprise. Her eyes widened. "You're playing me," she challenged Hale's explanation.

"No. I'm not," Hale replied stubbornly as her arms folded across her chest. The obstinate pout of Hale's lips brought a smile to Damia's face.

"Aw, hun," Damia lifted off her bedroll to gently touch the young hunter's cheek in a caring motion. "You do know what that means, don't you?"

Hale's eyebrow cocked in confusion but she didn't voice her question. She had her own ideas as to why the Lieutenant had not reprimanded her and this time for a much more serious offense.

Damia gave a wide grin. "He definitely fancies you. Otherwise, you'd have gotten consequences. Bad ones."

Hale rolled her eyes and huffed. "No way. Shut it, Damia," she said through a restrained grin. Her ability to hold back her smile ultimately futile.

"Make me," Damia teased in an instigating whisper, knowing that her needling words were getting right under her younger friend's skin. "Lieutenant Howe loves Ha-"

Damia could not finish her sentence before Hale pounced on top of her with aggressive vigor. Straddling Damia, Hale met her mouth with a forceful kiss. The playful energy brought giggles from Damia. Both muscular women, built for scouting and adept in combat, Hale and Damia's teasing often became physical and their sexual endeavors were often aggressive.

Hale's skilled hands reached to Damia's sides and tickled viciously, causing Damia to erupt in wild laughter. She wriggled violently in response to Hale's tickles, trying to squirm away and catch her breath. Succeeding in her efforts, Damia grabbed Hale's hair with one hand and yanked, causing Hale to yelp. She pushed Hale's shoulder with the other.

In one fluid movement, Damia wrestled Hale over on the bed. Short of breath at their rolling around, Hale realized she had lost their match. Grinning in victory, Damia rested her weight on top of Hale and pinned her wrists down on either side of her head.

With a focused, relentless glare at Damia, Hale's leg found its way between Damia's thighs from where she was trapped. Hale grinned and lifted her brow to Damia on top of her, accepting the challenge Damia presented. Then with the clever bend of her knee, Hale pressed her thigh against Damia's core through their leather breeches.

It caused Damia to groan. A surprised and tempted noise, the result of Hale's cunning use of her position from underneath. Hale maintained pressure. Escalating her advantage and pushing harder, pulsing Damia's body against her leg. Damia gave up with a sigh as she melted on top of Hale and released the hold of Hale's wrists in the process.

The force of Hale's leg continued and Damia whined helplessly, her body at Hale's whim. Arms now free, Hale moved Damia's head to gain access to her neck. A flash of Hale's canines preceded her mischievous growl. Then her teeth drug against Damia's skin. Hale bit down. The bite was far softer and more tender than Damia expected. It forced her to moan blissfully.

But before Damia could catch her breath, Hale's leg lowered and arm upturned. Her hand slid tactfully down Damia's breeches. Curious digits met slick warmth, using the weight of her palm pressed against Damia's body for leverage. Hale explored, gliding around Damia's center, light movements teasing at her nub. It forced Damia to laugh and moan simultaneously. Then Hale isolated her movements.

Rubbing against Damia's bundle of nerves with slow, irregular motions Hale whispered in Damia's ear. "Don't want the attention of camp, hun. Don't make a sound." Then she bit Damia's ear lightly, and continued the motion of her finger. Weakly attempting to quiet her moans, Damia breathed deeply. Occasional whimpers and whines escaped her lips. To quiet her, Hale held Damia's head into her neck with her free hand to muffle the sounds.

Their bodies moved, legs entwined as Damia writhed. Her hips bucking with pleasure, Damia's leg now free from Hale's grasp moved against Hale's leather clad heat inadvertently. Hale closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as one hand worked Damia; the other kept Damia's head in place. Hale gave a taunting blow into Damia's ear. The sensation overwhelmed Damia, who let out another groan.

"Quiet or I'll stop!" Hale scolded, though she was proud to have prompted the reaction. And she liked Damia too much to stop when she was this close. They were silent for a few moments; Hale grinned. She felt Damia's body tightening on top of her. Then she started panting and calling out Hale's name in quick quiet whispers. Damia came. Her hips thrusting against Hale's hand with as much force as she could manage, shaking. Then silence. After a few slowed moments, a loud, whimpering exhale joined the release of Damia's body.

"Hale," They heard a familiar voice from outside. "Report to my tent."

* * *

As he sat by the campfire drinking his wine, he glanced overhead. Clusters of stars shone through the pockets of sky through the treetops. He relaxed in the serenity, grateful for a night off work. His nerves finally calming, the absence of Hale allowing his mind to ease- until his ears tuned in to notes of laughter from elsewhere in the encampment. Damia giggling.

It made his blood boil. The rest of the Wardens around the campfire seemed occupied enough. If they had noticed the sound, they did not seem to mind. He attempted to go back to his comfortable gaze at the sky. But then the lack of noise of the women was distracting. Nathaniel's mind wandered to what they were likely doing with the silence. It stirred his appetite and disrupted his peace _. Damn it, Hale. Not tonight._

He rose from the ground and proceeded among the tents with soft, silent steps. His head buzzed warmly from the alcohol, but his dexterity was not hampered. The other Wardens, unconcerned with his departure, continued their games and discussion. Val and Isenam, both notably tipsy, had skewered the nugs that Hale caught that morning and roasted them over the campfire.

Inaudibly, he reached Damia's quarters, from which he heard her suppressed whines. Nate shook his head. The women's audacious behavior illustrated their lack of respect for him as commanding officer. Considering the events of the morning, he saw this as blatant impertinence from Hale. It fired him up, especially since given the choice, their behavior was not unlike his under any other circumstances.

 _"Quiet or I'll stop!"_ He heard the smile in Hale's voice as she threatened Damia, following Damia's groan. A grin found its way to his lips, conflicting with his frustration. _The fiery young huntress prevails._ Despite the incident from the morning and Hale's timid attitude since, she apparently recovered fully. Then he realized what he was hearing. A buzzed mixture of anger and shame around his inappropriate eavesdropping kept him frozen. It kept him listening. Then he heard Damia panting Hale's name. It made his stomach tighten and the warmth of his chest more noticeable. He leaned to turn around but Damia's whimper and exhale stalled him.

The sound tickled his spine from the base of his neck up to his head. He battled between giving up this selfish crusade and calling Hale from the tent. Then his mouth spoke on its own accord. _"Hale. Report to my tent."_

 _For fuck's sake, Nate. What are you doing?_ He cursed himself as he walked from Damia's quarters into his neatly kept tent and waited.

A few minutes later, Hale walked in. The dim lighting of his tent, illuminated only by the campfire outside, made her shadow stretch across the floor as she entered. Though her face was unclear, her scent filled his quarters. It was natural and feminine, despite her rough edges, like the forest after a light rain mixed with peonies. The tent flap closed behind her and Hale's shape became discernable. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and eyes twinkling, she was dressed in just her untucked tunic and breeches; her boots were loose and unlaced. The pangs of hunger drove through him as he studied her. With an awkward salute, her fist rose to her chest, and she bowed to Nathaniel.

"You called, Lieutenant?" She addressed with more assertiveness than he expected, considering the circumstances of this meeting and the events from the morning.

For a moment, he faltered. _Why did I want her here?_ His thoughts were foggy. The logic of his summoning her failed him. He remembered that he was angry with her. Her audacity. But then he did not interrupt her and Damia when he had the chance. And he realized that he would fail to punish her once again.

"I called you here to thank you," Nathaniel said seriously through a bold-faced lie. The wine in his system did not prevent him from maintaining his composure.

Hale's eyebrow cocked instantly with surprise. "What?"

"Thank you for being there this morning, and for your quick reflexes," he confessed indifferently; his face frowning. "It was without my order, but I owe you my life."

The skepticism in Hale's glance was unfiltered. She was guarded, her shoulders tight, arms crossed, and her weight on one leg. "Right," she replied. "'Course. Just did what I would've wanted done for me, sir."

Studiously, he chose his next words with care. "You have been a challenge, Hale." Her expression in response looked mildly offended and her mouth opened to retort. Before she could speak, he continued. His tone low, authoritative and as kind as its gruffness permitted. "I've never had a Warden in my charge kill another Warden. Nor have I had a Warden in my charge, or any Warden for that matter, hit me square in the jaw." This was true. Even in practice, he had never been hit like that by another Warden. He saw a glimpse of pride in Hale's gaze when he said this but her cheeks also blushed with embarrassment. She looked away. "But I've also never had a Warden bring so much morale to her team so quickly and with such ease."

Hale shifted on her feet awkwardly. This attention, the recounting of her deeds on this quest was clearly making her uncomfortable. She looked back to him with a furrowed brow, questioning, challenging him with her discomfort. "Okay… What d'you want me to say? Sorry? You're welcome?"

The questions caught him off guard. Her belligerent attitude testing his patience. "Nothing," he offered. Unsure if it was the alcohol in his system or his recurring frustration with the young woman, he explained with mild annoyance. "I'm sorry for insulting your commitment to the Wardens this morning."

"Don't," she said bluntly, raising one hand to stop the direction of this conversation. "I _am_ a fucking thief, Lieutenant. A pickpocketing street rat. You're right to question me." Her response was harsh, disinterested in being considered anything more honorable. Either Hale didn't agree with him or she didn't want to believe his kind words.

"What are you talking about?" He asked with irritation.

"Like you said," her words were angry, spiteful; her tone was drenched with sarcasm. She took a step toward him, gesturing her body as she spoke. "I'm just a thief. It's really the only reason I'm here."

"To steal," Nate confirmed her words with a bitter laugh. He matched her step with his own. She stood within arms reach, radiating rebellion and he wanted it. His decorum faltered and Nate questioned, "And to fuck your fellow Wardens?"

Hale quickly barked back, "Like you've room to talk!"

The hunger could no longer be tamed. Impure thoughts flooded his mind. _How does she like it? How will she feel from the inside? What will she taste like?_ Nate gave a suggestive smirk. And as though that flipped a switch for Hale, the fire in her eyes intensified. She closed the distance between them in a flash. Her arms using his shoulders as leverage. She leapt up, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He released a growl as his arms instinctively moved around to hold her body. Nate steadied himself with her weight; his stance widened. She was light, he noticed. Nimble. Her arms rested on his shoulders, her hands weaved through his long hair. His length had been growing vexed since he heard Hale and Damia in Damia's tent. Now that she was on him, he swelled in his breeches. Cock hard, pressed against her small frame.

Their lips collided. Crashing against one another. Opening, tongues twirling; a heated, ravenous, messy dance. It was a greedy, gluttonous kiss that continued, fueled by their pent-up tension finally culminated in ardor. Their heads moved around, changing angles, catching air.

Starving for more, the kiss did not meet his insatiable need. His appetite was far too large to be satisfied that simply. And from what he assessed by her voraciousness, the tug of her teeth on his swollen lower lip, her hand gripping his hair, Hale's appetite was similar.

Without any knowledge of what would come next, just knowing he wanted more of this woman, he took slow steps toward his bedroll. She moved from his lips to his neck, nibbling and sucking like a wild animal. Predatory. Nate blinked slowly, appreciating the feel of her mouth on his skin. He grinned in response to the rabid young woman who craved him. Unspoken, she released her legs and dropped down. Her boots landing on his bedroll with a thud. She had no concern for the state of his belongings.

Her arms still on his shoulders, and his at her narrow waist, they glared at each other in silence for a fraction of a second. Then she let go and leaned away. Her long fingers drug the hair on the unshaved side of her head behind her ear. Her ears, pointed, exotic. Elegant and precise, like her hands. Like her long, slender body that he scanned as she stood there. Her breasts were small from what he could tell. The small clothes she wore, visible from under her tunic, made it hard to determine based on the fabric wrapped tightly around her chest.

His attention was interrupted when she dropped to her knees at his feet. _Well, she is hungry._ He thought to himself, surprised at her ambitioness. Tactful, hurried movements of Hale's searching fingers unlaced his breeches as he casually removed his shirt. Pale skin revealed over lean, muscled tissue and accented by dark, coarse hair leading a narrow trail under his small clothes. Abundant scars of varying intensity marked his chiseled upper body.

Impatient but careful, she lowered his breeches with his help, the leathers dragged against his skin. His small clothes came next, freeing his length to her access. Hale licked her lips as she observed his shaft; measuring it up, gauging her own ability to handle him. Angry, determined, and absolutely famished, she looked up to him from where she knelt. The warmth radiating from his member just a breath away from her face. Glaring from below, Hale's hand moved to his base, holding his shaft, guiding it as she wanted. The anticipation built.

Until she licked him. Starting from the base and gliding up to the head. Nathaniel shuddered blissfully. Their gaze unbroken until he blinked; pleasured with the sample of carnal satisfaction he awaited. Then she took him into her mouth. Her wet, soft lips wrapping around his head. Smooth, velvety warmth encompassed; her mouth watered around him. Lust radiated from his head to his toes, now curling in result. Sucking, she slid down to take in more, guiding him to the back of her throat. Her neck elongated to permit more entrance and her tongue ran along his length as she came back up. _Fuck._ His muscles contracted the more she continued. Bobbing her head up and down on him. Hale _was_ generous, eager to please, and hungry. He relished in each of her fervid actions. Her technique was superb.

Nathaniel could not remember the last time a woman did this to him. Most of his recent sexual exploits had been hurried with little time for foreplay. And while his games with Caoilainn involved plenty of fondling, she never offered him this.

His hand found Hale's hair; his fingers gently lacing through her locks while her head passionately undulated on his shaft. As though she savored the taste, Hale moaned and her lips hummed against him. It took every last ounce of his will to refrain from clutching her long, red tresses and guiding his hips toward her appetent mouth.

His eyes closed, his head tilted back, and he groaned. Though he could hear the campfire and undisturbed activity around it, the audible sound of his voice caught his attention. Perhaps it was the alcohol fading from his system, but responsible thoughts distracted him _. She's the Inquisitor's cousin and Caoilainn will kill you. Barely a Junior Warden; you're the Lieutenant. She's only 19._ Though the illicitness of this relationship was indeed alluring, his morals won out. _Great timing, Nate._

"Stop," Nate said in a low, hesitant, and breathy exhale. She ignored him at first, continuing her technique, aware that he was very much enjoying her skills. "Stop, Hale," he lightly tugged her hair to remove her head from his length. She wiped her mouth and looked up to him angrily.

"What?" She asked with a curt tone, annoyed with the disruption of her process. Nathaniel reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

"I can't," he mumbled without making eye contact, pulling his small clothes up over his erection. His leather breeches securing it in place against his body. _Yes, you can._ He argued with himself.

"Uh," Hale replied with a bitter laugh. "I think you can, Lieutenant." Her gaze traveled to the bulge in his pants that was pushing against his loose breeches.

Nathaniel cringed at her reply. _Lieutenant._ A sigh followed his reaction and his hand pointed to the entrance of his tent. "Out," he ordered with a hint of reluctance in his tone. "Get out."

Hale glanced the direction his hand pointed before looking back at him. "Really? You're fucking shitting me," she cursed in disbelief. Her chest heaved with emotion. Anger and embarrassment, he gathered from the glare she gave him and the redness of her cheeks. It swirled together and underneath it all, in her voice he thought he heard sadness. She inhaled deeply, her expression communicating her conflicting emotions. Her lips pursed and her fists balled as she failed to find words. Then she turned and stormed from his tent.


	19. Chapter 19: Sacrifice

Is this really happening? _He asked himself._

 _He stood waiting. Eamon was nearby. Adorned in royal armor, embellished with gold and white, Alistair kept reminding himself to breathe. He sweat profusely underneath the layers._

 _The red carpet of the hallway at the Royal Palace seemed to stretch endlessly. It forced his stomach to dance, jittery, jumping with nerves. Vision tunneled, as if the hundreds of people on either side of the hall were not present. Music played, but he did not hear it._

 _The door at the other end of the hall opened. His stomach leapt when she entered. Breathtaking. Beautiful. He gulped._

 _Beaming proudly, Fergus, her brother, walked at her side. One gruelingly slow step at a time, she came closer._

 _Certain his heart stopped- his breathing certainly did- Alistair locked onto her intense, loving and decided stare. He remembered to inhale, slowly taking in air, stretching out his breath._

 _With reluctance, she looked away to see their companions and allies on either side of the aisle. It gave him a moment to observe her, donned elegantly in white and gold. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Everyone bowed as she passed. She would be a magnificent queen. His queen._

 _Closer. Her silvery-blue eyes met his again and Maker's breath, she smiled. Incredible. His insides twisted up and joyful tears pooled in his eyes. He had to keep blinking to make sure he was not dreaming. This fascinating woman was walking to him, to stand beside him in love. Forever._

 _Even closer. Caoilainn and Fergus came up a few steps until Fergus bowed and released her hand. She walked the remaining steps on her own._

 _Beneath her warmth, her confidence, Alistair knew she was nervous. She kept checking the ground to make sure she did not misstep. When she met him at the altar, she gripped his hand desperately. He felt her cool palms, damp with anxiety._

 _Her long, ashen-blonde tresses braided intricately for this event, and her beautiful eyes, made-up, large and crystalline as if she had recently cried. He understood the grief of her parents, deceased, unable to join her on this wondrous day. But Maker, she was stunning._

 _They turned together to face the Revered Mother. Caoilainn held Alistair's hand tightly for support through the ceremony._

 _Then they were married, and shared a kiss far more polite than those they shared in private to pronounce their union to Ferelden. The depth of their love and emotion was vibrant in their affection. Cheers and applause filled the hall; a few lone whistles echoed throughout. The commotion was followed by another hush when Alistair and Caoilainn turned to face the hall._

 _Starry-eyed, Alistair watched as Eamon placed the crown on her head. It fit perfectly, magnificently. Alistair saw the tears welled in her eyes. She never let go of his hand._

Consumed by the rapture of this special day, neither would have suspected within a year she would begin an affair with another man.

He still remembered the way her perfume smelled.

* * *

The first few days were bearable. He made it through the Inquisition meeting, refrained from interacting with Caoilainn. _Just give her space._ Efforts to give her time and distance wrought with impatience proved more challenging than he expected. _Time and space for what?_ His requirement was simple. Give up Nathaniel. His mind fabricated reasons for her delay that heightened his dread.

Strolling through the encampment one morning, he observed her commanding the Grey Wardens breaking down their camp. Graciously guiding Wardens with diligence and care, she loved them and they her. Out of her sight, he watched her yelling strictly, pointing her finger to order large groups. He also saw her put her supportive hand to her Wardens backs, lifting them up when they needed help, and joining in the same tasks she ordered them to complete. She was still such a strong woman, even since the Blight. Rest, breaks in her duties or training were non-existent; still the fierce woman he met when she was just a new recruit.

 _Mother of Griffons._ He admired, but the thoughts that followed made his heart grow heavy. _I'm unnecessary confusion. She might be better off without me._

The thought had occurred to him more than once. If Caoilainn were not married to him, if she were free to command the Grey Wardens without her ties to the throne maybe she would be happier. The incessant pressure she put on herself to give him a child would be absent. She could devote herself fully to doing what she loved: being a Grey Warden.

Jealousy filled his mind. Her connection to the Wardens, something he still pined over. Wishing desperately to share the fuel the Warden bond gave regularly. He experienced it now with her army so close by. It was comforting, motivating. But he was an outsider tapping into their bond without purpose. Like a void that could never be filled, he craved to be with them. To rejoin that animal-like company she trained so well.

He shook his head to clear it. _Love is unconditional. Love is sacrifice._ It required him to give up his pride, overcome his naivety. Love could only prevail with work. Copious amounts of effort and in this case, a willingness to forgive for things he may consider shameful. Distrustful. He decided his love for her was more meaningful than his ego. Whenever he questioned his ability to forgive, he reminded himself that.

After watching her in her element for a few more minutes, he departed toward the Ferelden section of the camp. His emotions stirred. Love. Anger. Desperation. Deep sadness. _How long can I wait for her decision? And if she leaves… for someone else? Can I handle that?_ He tried to stop his line of thought. As it stood now, he was waiting. Constant admonitions of the harm worrying about the unknown, the only thing that gave him peace of mind. He made it to the Ferelden encampment to discuss the state of the Ferelden Royal Army with his advisors.

They should be at the Emerald Graves forward camp in a few more days. His advisors explained as he sat at a large table in the King's tent; the advisors stood across from him. They had spread a map of the region in front of Alistair, pointing to locations on the map as they spoke. He half listened, until one mentioned the Grey Warden scouts should return within a day of their arrival to the Graves.

It meant Nathaniel would return to her.

Sharp, stabbing pain drove through Alistair's heart. He had gone ten years not talking about this with her, but now it was hard to ignore his indignation. Especially when she took so long to agree to give the man up.

He excused the advisors from his tent.

Denied rage boiled beneath, rage he thought he dealt with. Emotions brought hot, angry tears to his eyes. Tumultuous, furious. He rubbed his hands along the grainy texture of the mahogany table. Attempts to calm himself failed, to focus on his senses and replace the negative thoughts with the positive. _She's waiting for him._ The thought conquered his composure, his chest heaved. And in an instant, the rage boiled to the surface. His hands found the lip of the table. Yelling wordlessly, his muscles flexed. With a crash, he flipped the table over and stood. Maps and papers floated to the ground in the aftermath.

He paced the length of the tent, angry with himself for acting out on his anger, and pointedly angry with Caoilainn for her infidelity.

Face red with fury, perspiring, his heart pounded in his head. He had to breathe, deep breaths, many of them. It didn't work. Alistair let out another yell and left the tent. Walking out in the clean Orlesian air, he crossed through the encampment alone. The chill in the air was not as cold as it had been in the Emprise du Lion days prior. Now they neared the Exalted Plains, from which they would travel south.

He walked to a pond just outside of the camp. Trees surrounded and lily pads floated on the surface. Staring out into nothing, his nerves finally quieted. Throwing stones into the water seemed to help. They skipped on the surface before plunking beneath to some unknown depth. Ripples spread outward and dissipated. He watched them intently, allowing the patterns to soothe him.

"Alistair?" Her voice was smooth like honey. Caoilainn. He caught his breath but remained quiet, confused at the contradiction to the rage that fired within him a few minutes ago. "Alistair, can I speak with you?"

He closed his eyes, still facing the water. _Am I ready to hear whatever she has to say?_ With another deep breath, he turned to face her. Standing just a few steps away, he read her posture. Shoulders slouched, not the stern and caring Commander he saw that morning. Her eyes cast downward. When she looked at him, he saw the exhaustion in her red and puffy eyes. She had been crying. Alistair nodded in response to her question.

A few steps brought her closer, but she stayed out of arm's reach. "I'm sorry." The apology was impassive, unreadable.

He felt tears tempting to rise. The worst possible explanation of her apology came to his mind. His eyes widened. _No. Please, Caoilainn. Don't_. He stayed silent, breath held, unable to find words.

Caoilainn sighed. He did not think it possible, but her shoulders slouched even more. "I'm sorry I've failed you."

The attempt to stay his tears was failing. They pooled slowly, delayed, unsure if they were warranted. He stood straighter, but his face wrinkled. "What are you saying?" He asked with every effort to hold the trepidation from seeping through his tone.

Caoilainn shook her head. Her eyes were watery. "I'm not…" She tried to breathe. "I'm not the woman you deserve. I don't see how you could ever forgive me.."

A few tears fell and his heart dropped to his stomach. _Is she giving up?_ "Caoilainn… I love you. Always. We can work through this." Heartache filled him but he did not want to want to beg. _Don't make me beg._

"How?" She asked harshly. "How, Alistair? You should be furious with me. Ten years, Alistair. _Ten years._ It's unforgivable. I know that. I knew that and I continued! You deserve so much better." Her inflection rose, angry and fervent.

Alistair's tone met the level of hers, and he crossed his arms."I _am_ furious, Caoilainn. I'm frustrated and angry and I cannot believe that you-"

"Then why?" She interrupted him. Her hands rose toward him, palms up. She clenched her fists and shook her head. "Why did you chase me?" She paused and whispered. "… _make love_ to me in Skyhold? For love of the Maker, Alistair, why would you do that if you're so angry?"

Alistair's sighed with disappointment. His voice lowered but the frustration audible. "How many times do I have to tell you? I _love_ you. I always will. No matter what."

She looked away. Her brow furrowed upward, pleading. "Love isn't enough. We can't just _fuck_ our relationship back together." Her words were sharp, but the tremble in her intonation softened the edges of her cursing.

"I know that." He looked downward and his ears reddened.

What she said was true, but the intimacy they had shared recently was powerful and undeniable. It was one way he was sure he could get through to her.

Caoilainn looked to him, jaw set, tears flowed freely. Her chest rose proudly, guarding herself for the answer to whatever she was about to ask. "And how did you learn to do all those things you did?" She paused intensely. "... Was there another woman?"

The question was unexpected. Shocked, he took a moment to answer, slowly shaking his head. "Never, Caoilainn." He gazed at her with intent and took a step forward, reaching his hand out to cradle her head, holding their eye contact. "It was only ever you."

Her chest fell, and she looked down. With her eyes closed, her shoulders shook silently for a few seconds. When her gaze lifted, she frowned. Denying his affection, she backed away. "Then where did you learn that?" He remained quiet, face neutral, lips pressed. Caoilainn's voice rose, "tell me, Alistair!"

"I can't tell you that." He mumbled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Her blue eyes searched him, scrutinizing his expression for any shred of an answer. Attempting to reveal none, he stood straighter, his chin lifted just an inch.

Caoilainn gave an embittered laugh and her hand brushed a strand of her blonde hair back and held it to her head. Her mouth gaped open. "Did you… did you have spies on me? Watching me… sleep with another man?" She sneered.

Grey Wardens were notorious for their sexual prowess and appetite and Alistair knew his wife to be particularly amorous. It was an area of their relationship that diminished before she left. So he learned about her preferences with the information he gathered from his scout at Vigil's Keep. Applying what he learned in an effort to connect was now coming back to slap him in the face.

"I had no other ways of reaching you," he admitted blankly. It was not an excuse, but he feared it came across as one.

"It's sick, Alistair," she reviled.

"And what was I supposed to do?" Alistair exclaimed, his shoulders rising. His tone escalated again. "You wouldn't write back. Always conveniently absent when I tried to visit. I did what was within my power as the King."

Her eyes widened and her cheeks blushed. Her voice was low and meek, embarrassed. "Well now with your power as the King, you've had your men see me, your wife, the Queen… naked. In bed with another man. It's violating. Unconscionable. Humiliating." Brow furrowed pitifully, she maintained her tear-filled glare.

 _Pot, meet kettle._ Insulting thoughts came to his mind, and he was tempted to berate her with them. But the argument would be useless and would not remedy their dispute; he suspected her words stemmed from her guilt.

"And I'm sorry," he offered firmly, the bitterness mostly removed from his voice. "I saw no other way." Despite the completely avoidable circumstances of her transgressions, she had a right to be upset. Her privacy was infringed upon.

Though she glowered in silence, shooting daggers at him with her eyes; he knew she was thinking about what he said. After a few long, drawn-out moments, her eyes red and swollen, her chest still rising and falling with emphasis of emotion, she replied. "I'll _never_ be enough for you, Alistair. I am not the woman you see." She sounded frustrated. Typical for Caoilainn, having found no rebuttal to his statement, she instead admitted complete defeat. Her head turned away, crying, scowling at the ground.

His hand gently found her chin, and he moved her to face him. "Listen to me." He paused, brow creased, and let her give her teary glare until she eased. "I am telling you that you are who I love. Yes, I'm still angry… and I want to forgive you. I hope you'll do the same."

She opened her mouth to argue but Alistair shook his head. "Let me speak, my Queen." Lips closed tightly, Caoilainn stayed silent as Alistair continued. "I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for you. Because you're enough, Caoilainn. You are _exactly_ the woman I see, standing right in front of me."

"We'll be worlds apart…" She murmured her fear. The trip from Ferelden to Vigil's Keep was minimal, but their responsibilities magnified the distance.

"But together. We'll figure it out. Let me be the man you needed all those years ago," he assured, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.

If Caoilainn's plan for a cure to the Calling proved fruitful, she might return to him earlier, he hoped. All selfish desires, he withheld reminding her this. He had no wish to pressure her into having a child just so he could have her back at his side. Especially since it would require her to leave the Wardens and the bond they shared.

Her body relaxed in his arms. She eased into him and her arms wrapped around his neck. Close, warm, she looked up to him. Tears still streamed, but she gave a tired and hopeful smile which he reciprocated with his own. Holding her tight, Caoilainn whimpered as he tilted her back. Supporting her weight in his arms, his lips pressed against hers. She melted, sighing, welcoming his affection as her arms bound around him. Eventually, he broke from the kiss and steadied her on her feet.

"I need to go," she mumbled, looking downward and tucking loose hair behind her ear. He sensed her reluctance, the loving delay, and the worry stirred beneath.

The mysterious woman, so aloof and guarded. He came too close, too quickly. Their trust still needed to be rebuilt. Though he wanted to hold her tighter and assure that their relationship would heal no matter her fears, now was not the time.

"I love you, Alistair," she breathed, kissing his cheek before walking away. She avoided his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20: Blood Magic

Tingling, her lips still felt him. The sensation reminded her of the fiery interaction she shared with the Lieutenant a few moments ago. Furious with his dismissal of her, she was determined to get away from the encampment.

Damia sat upon the layers of blankets of her bedroll and looked up from the blade she was sharpening. A sly grin found its way to her face when Hale rushed in. Damia teased. "Really? The Lieutenant was that fast?"

Hale ignored Damia and glared, grabbing her tabard from the floor and pulling it on over her tunic.

Playful taunts continued from Damia as she observed Hale buckle her belt and loop the slack around, tucking it into the strap. "Now that surprises me. Sorry excuse for a Grey Ward-"

"Wouldn't know," Hale interrupted, not looking up as she knelt to lace up her boots.

"Right," Damia continued, her grin stretched wider, head tilting to the side as she stood. "And I'm an Orlesian Comtesse. Spill it, Hale. What did you and the Lieutenant do at such a late hour?"

Armor donned, Hale reached for her bow and packed quiver- both of which rested in Damia's tent. She glanced at Damia before looking away. "Nothing." With nothing other than her curt reply, Hale took a step toward the entrance of the tent. Damia reached for her.

Brow wrinkled with worry, Damia crooned as she touched Hale's arm. "Hale, are you-"

Hale's arm lifted as she turned around to Damia. In a quick motion she shoved Damia who gasped as she staggered back, brow wrinkled, arms reaching out for balance. The crease in Hale's brow quickly changed, her eyebrows lifted apologetically. Her mouth opened, "I-" she stammered _. What've I done?_ "I didn't…" Seeking words that wouldn't come, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Fuckin' shite."

Grabbing her items, she pushed her way out of Damia's tent. She didn't look back.

Her mind raced, explanations of Nathaniel's rejection swirled and contradicted themselves. _He fucking liked it_! Her long legs lifted, alternating in quick succession. The balls of her feet landed lightly on the soft dirt, carrying her through the dark forest _. Then it's me._ Her eyes peeled to adjust to the blackness. She flew, a whirlwind of speed and stamina. Arrows rattled in her quiver. _I'm a fucking prat._

It may have been minutes, or maybe hours. She ran until she couldn't continue and stopped in a clearing.

Breathless, panting, she bent at her waist and rested her hands on her knees. It only took a moment for her to catch her breath. Hyper-vigilant, heart still pounding, her eyes darted around where she stood. Fireflies speckled the surrounding darkness, their light blinking in silence. Her forehead was damp from running. _Shite!_ She cursed herself. Rash choices brought her to this place, unsure where she was, how far she was from camp. The campfire was out of sight.

Forced to improvise, she scanned the trees around her and spotted one suitable for climbing. Lithely, she lifted herself up branches and limbs. The coarse texture of the tree against her palms was soothing and familiar as she continued higher. When she found a good place to stop, she peered around from her elevation and spotted the camp, a fair distance to the east. Light pulled her attention to look west before descending. There she saw another camp, larger and about half the distance than her own.

She also noticed a faint tickle, like a tug, buzzing in her head joined by an urge from her heart that pulled her toward the foreign encampment. She noticed blue and white regalia as she neared. _So is this the bond the Bitch Queen Commander's always going on about_? Strange, something about the sensation seemed wrong. Regardless of the oddness, her curiosity won out. Staying above in the trees, she lurked toward the encampment. Senses heightened, she could roughly determine people occupying the encampment standing around a fire. Sneaking even closer, her ears tuned in with subtle awareness of her own noises and greater attention to those below her. Eerily silent, large number of Grey Wardens stood. Small shifts in color passed between their hands.

"Do you feel that?" A male voice from below questioned. Hale caught her breath, concerned that the Grey Warden might feel her presence by the bond.

"No," another man replied, his voice gravelly. "Just get back to work." Both of their accents were Orlesian.

Hale released a quiet exhale. _What are they working on?_ Eyes focused, she surveyed the encampment. It was larger than the scouting groups by four or five times. Squinting as she studied these Wardens, she saw they were dressed in light armor, barely offering any protection, and mending their staves with magic. _They're all mages._ Continuing her survey of the camp, she covered her mouth so as not to gasp.

Beyond the camp, a variety of demons milled either unaware or uninterested in the troop of Grey Wardens right next to them. Instincts told her to run back to her camp, to immediately warn her fellow Wardens of what she saw. But curiosity kept her there, staring at the sight before her.

Another Warden ran up to the group below. Panting, he announced. "The Inquisition army has entered Orlais. Their numbers are larger than the Elder One predicted."

The man who must have been an appointed leader, replied. His grating voice made Hale cringe. "And the Grey Wardens among them?"

"There is a significant number of them," the messenger reported. "And some of our brothers who didn't complete the ritual are among the Ferelden Wardens."

"Wonderful," the leader croaked. "We will protect the Vessel, as ordered. Maim, harm, or debilitate the Grey Wardens. But we can't kill them. We will continue the ritual without the magister."

 _Ritual?_ Hale's eyes widened as she listened. Cautiously, she waited, hoping that the leader would say more while desperately wanting to flee from her hideout. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her hands shaking.

"There will be plenty of warriors to sacrifice and mages to induct," the leader gloated. "Our army against the Old Gods will be stronger than before Stroud and Clarel's betrayal."

 _Sacrifice? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I have to tell the Lieutenant._ Stark still, she waited. Head spinning with fear, her mouth parched, she swallowed and closed her eyes. Her head rested against the tree trunk as she forced herself to wait patiently for the activity to carry on in the enemy encampment. Eventually she determined it safe to move. Light and agile, she drifted from limb to limb toward her camp with speed.

Then her hand slipped. Palms wet with sweat from her running and nerves. Her hand landed on a moss-covered branch and slid, causing her to lose her footing. She fell backwards with a whoosh. The air left her lungs when she landed hard on a bulky tree-limb and bounced off a more before she caught herself. Stabilizing on the tree, she found her breath, though painfully.

The first thing she checked was her bow. It was broken. _Bollocks!_ Fortunately, her quiver was packed tight enough that she didn't lose any arrows but the container was cracked. Unmoving, frozen with fear, she listened for activity from the direction of the enemy camp.

The camp was unchanged, emitting the same noise as before. _Safe._ With a deep breath, she exhaled and inhaled again. Intense pain resonated in her side and it hurt to breathe. She picked up her leg to run, building momentum with a few steps. But the stabbing pain in her side stopped her. _Pox on me!_ She cursed herself and stopped to try to breathe. Her hand reached around and clutched her chest. Tears of pain involuntarily welled in her eyes. Left to walk, she took her time hobbling back to camp. Fireflies lit her way and the hints of smoky roast nug teased at her nose, guiding her back to the camp.

Pride wounded, just like her ribs, she stumbled into the forward. The smell of cooked nug still lingered despite the cold fire pit. It seemed everyone was sleeping. Exhausted, and sore, Hale tiptoed through the encampment toward her tent. Curling up into a ball, symbolically licking her wounds and sleeping off the pain was tempting. But she knew she needed to tell someone what she saw, and that person was the Lieutenant. She paced in front of her tent in thought.

Mist weighted with moisture hung near the ground. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered quicker than her racing heart and contradicted the stillness of the camp.

Eventually, Hale closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward Nathaniel's tent, shaking her free hand as she made her way. She entered and closed her eyes again. She could feel the bond clearly now; it hummed steadily in her heart and it wasn't strange like it had been earlier. Now it was pure, clean and warm. The sensation was better than being drunk, better than sex. Better than hunting. Her eyes closed to revel. With her senses subtly heightened, Nathaniel's earthy scent quieted her nerves.

"What are you doing, Hale?" Nathaniel asked.

Hale yelped. Eyes wide, she froze and stammered, "I, uh, sir. Lieutenant…"

"Spit it out." She heard his body moving on his bedroll, sitting up. _No, don't do that._

Eyes closed, with a deep inhale, she turned to face the entrance of his tent. "I fled the camp after you, we, um…."

"I know," he interrupted. "What then?" She heard more movement as if he was rising from his bedroll. _Don't fucking stand up._

"I ran… far, maybe half a day's walk, and I found the rest of them crazy Warden fucks." She heard the movement of his bedroll. "Said something..." Holding tighter to her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her other hand found its way to pull on her ear to avoid from shaking. "Something about a, uh, Vessel or something… a ritual… and," she paused, biting her lip. She could hear him standing, stepping closer, breathing from behind her. "Sacrifice… of warriors."

"What?" He sounded shocked, almost angry.

"Don't know anymore," she answered, her head tilting to look over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of him in his smallclothes despite the poor lighting. His legs were just as muscular as his upper body. Hale's head snapped back to face away. "Some… something about sacrificing warriors to _induct_ mages." The word induct was emphasized as it was one she was not sure she completely understood. It had never found its way from her mouth before.

"Turn around," Nathaniel ordered softly, his voice patient.

Hale shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. On any other day, this interaction would have been exciting, fun. She would have welcomed the challenge. But after being rejected by this particular man, stumbling across an enemy encampment, and then falling from a tree, she was not her usual brash self. Her heart still raced.

Nathaniel's hands reached to her shoulders and applied faint pressure, nudging her to move. Hale released a whimper. Feet planted, the slight twist of her body stung.

His hands retracted instantly in response and he gave another order. "Hale, look at me."

She sighed. His voice was kind, and she wanted to hear more of it. Her feet moved to turn around. Face tilted down, she looked up to him, barely making out the lines on his face. Hale bit her lower lip, trying to ignore that he stood brazenly in his smallclothes.

He was frowning, but it was not in disappointment. The questioning wrinkle of his brow showed concern. _He's so tired he don't realize he's in his underwear?_ "Okay…" she broke the silence.

"Are you hurt?" He asked as his eyes scanned to her hand holding her chest before looking back at her face.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "But it don't matter. We need to get out of here or we'll get sacrificed or some shite."

"Did they hear you get away?" His questions continued, eyes narrowed.

"No!" Hale huffed, shoulders slouching until she remembered her injury and whimpered again. "Damn, you got a lot of questions… sir."

Lip curled in a smile, Nathaniel's chin lifted. "We're not going anywhere. You've found exactly what we came to scout, young Warden. You did well."

Hale's mouth opened and her brow furrowed. "But…"

"No," he replied as he moved to find his breeches, pulling them on as he talked. "I'll meet with the mages to determine our next steps before we depart in the morning. Stay here. I'll get Philippa and Aidan."

Barefoot and shirtless, he departed, leaving Hale standing in Nathaniel's tent, mouth gaping and wide-eyed. _Am I dreaming?_ She pinched herself. _Ow!_ The lack of anger, the absence of verbal scolding or threats of reprimand from the Lieutenant stunned her.

A few minutes later, Nathaniel returned with the mages, Philippa and Aidan. Upon entering the tent, Nathaniel lit a candle and Philippa walked to Hale. The sorceress's black hair was divided into two braids and her full lips were pulled in a tight frown in displeasure. Her forehead seemed as though it was always creased with focus and her hands rested on her hips. Aidan stood in the corner, holding a book in both hands over his legs. The man was in his early 30s, handsome. He looked noble to Hale. They all did.

"Child, what have you done to yourself?" Philippa said as she lifted Hale's arm by the wrist to examine her side. Teeth gritted, Hale hissed at the movement. "Oh, hush now. Let me see it. Remove your armor and shirt."

Hale's eyebrows wrinkled for a second, and her eyes darted to Nathaniel and Aidan who were sitting on Nate's bedroll, conversing in the corner near the candle. They seemed to reference the book that Aidan held. Hale looked back to the witch and nodded. Slowly, she unbuckled her belt and dropped it to the ground. Holding her breath, eyes closed tightly and lips puckered, she bent at her waist to pull the tabard over her head _. Stop being such a baby, Hale!_ She didn't want to cry in front of the Lieutenant.

Hale lifted the shirt up on one side to expose the pained area, already marked by blue and purple bruises. Philippa frowned, hands returning back to her hips. "All of it, child. And what's that blasted thing you're wearing under your tunic?" She pointed to the fabric wrapped tightly around Hale's chest over her small clothes.

Sighing, Hale pulled her shirt up and over her head with one arm, revealing the numerous other scrapes and bruises she gathered from her fall. Her eyes darted to Nathaniel, who was sitting shirtless nearby. He was already looking at her and held the gaze before lazily looking back at Aidan. She swore she saw a grin at the corner of his mouth. But the candlelight flickered in the tent now crowded with four people. Shadows played tricks inside the canvas walls.

"Dear, this is certainly making it hurt more." Philippa pulled at the wrap. "Why on earth would you hide such fine breasts under all this fabric?" Her scolding was followed by Nathaniel's coughing, which even Hale could tell was an attempt to hide his laughter. Aidan grinned at Nathaniel's reaction. The antics between the men had no effect on Philippa who didn't blink as she continued. "Take it off, child."

Face red, her eyes widened, and she looked at Nathaniel and Aidan. They stared hard at each other, forcing their conversation to continue as if they hadn't heard what Philippa just ordered. The grins on their faces revealed their amusement.

"Come now. Time is running out, dear. Turn around if you don't wish for these lechers to gawk at you." Philippa suggested as her head turned to face the men. "What were you gentleman saying about blood magic?"

Apparently, in her studying of Hale, Philippa had overheard the conversation between the men. Hale looked to Nathaniel, who looked back like a hawk. Empowered in spite of her blushing, the call to mischief urging her, she raised an eyebrow and untucked a corner of the wrapped fabric. _Yeah. You're not sending me away now, are you?_ Gaze maintained with Nathaniel, she removed a layer as Aidan replied to Philippa.

"It must be blood magic," Aidan said. "There's no other reason to require a sacrifice for a ritual."

Hale unwrapped a few more layers, keeping eyes locked with the Lieutenant. He was looking back, eyes squinted. The shadows on his face made it hard to tell if he kept their gaze or if it wandered to her chest. With each layer removed, as there were many, she could feel the weight of her breasts shifting, relaxing. Her inhales were deeper and although the pain of her ribs wasn't as sharp, it became dull and constant.

"A sacrifice, you say?" Philippa questioned Aidan. "Of what sort?"

The Philippa woman was beautiful, Hale decided, her skin smooth and pale like porcelain; her voice and the way she spoke belied the age her appearance suggested.

"That's what I'm trying to decipher," Aidan replied.

Nearing the final layers of her wrap, a smirk pulled at Hale's lips. She had Nathaniel's attention. For a moment, his chest didn't rise and fall. He held his breath, stare firm and intense with a brow risen in intrigue.

Aroused by his enrapture, Hale's lips parted and just as the fabric became loose and fe away from her breasts. She turned around to face the canvas wall. _Hah, take that._

"Hale said that they were planning on inducting our mages. They're protecting a Vessel. That could require blood magic." Nathaniel offered as if Hale's display hadn't been the slightest bit distracting from the conversation. She shook her head as she removed her bra, displeased with Nathaniel's apparent diligence. _Damn it!_

Philippa scoffed. "Do you literally read nothing, Nathaniel?" The pronunciation of her words was crisp and her voice sharp. Hale coughed to stifle her laugh this time. "The Vessel is in the destination. The Temple of Mythal. As for the blood, Grey Wardens already share it. That sacrifice would be useless. Blood is payment. They are buying a weapon or weapons and mixing our blood with something greater."

"I saw demons," Hale voiced without turning around. "On the other side of their camp. A whole fucking lot of them, right there, just standing."

"That's a good girl," Philippa said turning back to Hale, who cringed at the sentiment. "That's the answer. Sounds as though they are binding themselves to demons from the Fade and depending on the derivation of the spell, that is likely the source of their pledge to Corypheus."

"The leader- ow!" Hale yelped as Philippa prodded her side.

"Hush, child. I have to examine it and then I'll use magic to heal it. I didn't just have you take your shirt off so you could tease Nathaniel." Philippa continued with the what she was doing, the faintest evidence of a grin evident in the edges of her taut frown. Hale clutched a tent pole, eyes wide and face burning red. "Continue."

Surprised that Philippa referred to the Lieutenant by his first name, Hale explained. "Least I think it was the leader said- Ow… Said they could continue the ritual without the magister."

"Hold on, dear. Last bit." Magic radiated through Hale's chest, she felt it cooling, soothing her pain. Elated, fascinated by the sensation, it complemented the strength of the bond they shared. "All right now, dress up. You can put those pert, young breasts away, dear." Hale blushed again, glad no one could see her face as she put on her bra and tunic. She left the wrap and armor off.

"So what should we do about all this?" Aidan asked Philippa for guidance.

Not waiting for her turn, or for Philippa's answer, Hale spoke up as she sat down next to Nathaniel, across from Philippa and Aidan. "Couldn't we use the magic against 'em? Without the ritual, can we make them Orlesian whoresons fight for us since we share the same blood and all?"

Philippa's tight frown curled up just a little. "Clever child," she hummed. "It is possible, but we'd have to kill the demons first." Philippa looked to Aidan. "Hand me the tome."

Hale observed curiously as Philippa took the book from Aidan and flipped to a certain page. The audience waited patiently for Philippa's next piece of information. "It would require our own blood magic," she explained. "Warden mages are entitled to such illicit dealings since it is by our very nature." Handing the book to Hale, Philippa pointed to a section within a specific page. "Read this."

With a blank stare, Hale looked at the book, then up to Philippa, then back to the book. A knot tightened in her stomach. "I can't."

"What for?" Philippa chided, her brow wrinkled as she looked down her nose at Hale. "Just read what it says."

"I can't read," Hale confessed, embarrassed, her eyes still fixed on the book.

The humans in the tent were all of noble upbringing, illiteracy a misfortune of which their privilege kept them ignorant.

The book flew from her lap as Nathaniel lifted it.

Nathaniel read for her, only after giving her a wink. She relaxed, glad all eyes were no longer on her as Nate spoke. "Tainted blood magic. The Grey Warden blood bonds all Wardens to one another. Just as Mages of the Grey use blood magic to manipulate darkspawn, so too can the magic be used to control Warden brothers in times of duress." Nathaniel stopped and looked to Philippa, one eyebrow cocked with confusion. "I would say this counts as duress… but are you sure about this, Philippa?"

"Tut, tut, Nate," Philippa remarked, her lips remained tight and her face stern. "You think so little of me. Cherish this rare moment when I humor your lawfulness. The concern is valid as blood magic incurs risks. But unless you wish to slaughter our brethren, I see no other choice."

"I see," Nathaniel frowned.

Before Nate could ask any other questions, Hale chimed in again. Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. "So, we need to kill them demons, yeah?" She repeated Philippa. "How do we do that if those arseholes are all coming at us with magic?"

"My, you _are_ a clever child," Philippa's proud grin was unmistakable now. Hale's chest puffed up in response. "And you're right to question. Aiden and I can hold them with magic while you all destroy the demons. How many did you say there are?"

"'Bout four or five times us, I think," Hale estimated, as she looked up, scanning her memory for the images of the encampment.

"That's forty to fifty Wardens to hold, Philippa and just as many demons for the scouts to kill," Aiden worried aloud.

"And we only have light weapons among our scouts, save for Val and I don't think he's taking 50 demons head on while we offer support," Nathaniel added.

Hale sat upright, engaged in the interaction. Interested, curious even at the strategizing of the next steps of the Grey Wardens, she remained silent as they continued, only mildly aware of the Lieutenant's eyes drifting to her on occasion.

"Hm, I suppose you're right," conceding to the men's concerns, Philippa paused.

"And I would also prefer we get this approved by the Commander before we act," Nathaniel said as Hale rolled her eyes and shot a sideways glare at him.

 _Really? So the leash reaches this far?_

"Then it's settled. We'll scout on the morrow, gather more information about these Wardens and any others defending the Temple and take the information back to Caoilainn," Philippa announced as if she had the final say of the group's choices.

"Good," Aidan stretched his arms and yawned, rising from the bedroll and bowing to the group. "If you all wish to stay up, have at it, but I am going back to bed." He left the tent without waiting for a reply.

Hale rose from the ground, the exhaustion of the evening overtaking her. She swayed on her feet as she stood.

"Nathaniel, dear. See to it she makes it back to her tent safely. And child, get your bric-a-brac off the Lieutenant's floor." Philippa gave them both orders as she stood, turned and departed back toward her tent, leaving Nathaniel and Hale alone again.

Stooping to pick up her items, she avoided his eyes. Nathaniel took step forward and offered his arm to Hale. "Since I was ordered, I'll walk you to your tent," he smirked as he gave a mocking bow. "And I'll carry that for you, milady." He gestured to the pile of clothes in her hands. Hale stared at him, her face illustrating her skepticism.

"What'd you call me?" She sneered and jutted her chin.

His grin spread wider as he took the clothing and weapons from her hands. Too tired to insist on carrying her own things, Hale did not fight back. Instead, she looked at Nathaniel with amused disgust, an eyebrow cocked, and her lip slightly raised.

"Milady," he repeated with more emphasis, teasing her with the word. "It's a term of respect."

"Well don't," Hale scoffed, though she was failing to hide the smile from curving her lips. "I'm not a _lady_ and I'm definitely not _yer_ lady, _Lieutenant."_

His grin didn't fade as he carried her items back toward her tent through the Inquisition encampment. It was nearing dawn. The mist was thicker, and the stars faded in the night sky. When they arrived, Nathaniel followed Hale into her quarters.

Heart strumming, quicker than it was before he entered, Hale bit her lip- the excitement of having the Lieutenant so close by was battling with her complete lack of energy. She motioned for Nathaniel to drop her items on the ground which he did. Unconcerned with the mess of her tent, she plopped down on her bedroll and took off her boots.

"Thanks," she offered through a yawn, sitting cross-legged. Her eyelids were heavy, fluttering as Nathaniel looked down at her. She was too tired to appreciate the spectacle of the Lieutenant's bare, muscled, and scarred upper body on display over her.

"My pleasure," he replied, looking to the items on the ground near him. "What's this binding your breasts business for, anyway?" The cloth wrap she was no longer wearing sat on top of the pile of clothing.

"Really?" Her question jeered as if the answer was obvious. In her opinion, the answer was visible under her tunic. "You ever tried to draw a bowstring with yer tits in yer fucking way?" She stuck her chest out and her hands circled her ample breasts.

"Well, no. I can't say I have," he said through a laugh.

"Then don't ask dumb questions." _Why is he still here?_ She wondered. Her heart still fluttered, and she was certain her cheeks were pink, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to flirt.

Nathaniel squatted down on the ground to get closer to her eye level. She felt his warmth, curiosity, and caring. It differed from the tension they shared before. She wasn't sure which she liked more. "Philippa was right, you know. You _are_ quite clever, Hale. And rebellious. Between sneaking, stealing, and spying, you're like-"

Stretching her arms over her head, she cut him off, looking at him with one eye open. The sing-song sound of her voice carried through her yawn. "A fox. That's my name. You know Elvhen now?"

Nathaniel's brow wrinkled and his mouth curved down. "Hale is fox?"

"Aye," she responded as she laid down, unable to keep herself upright any longer. She glanced to him from where she rested. "In the clan they called me Hale'Harel. The _Dread Fox_. Always been a bit of a troublemaker."

The dramatic inflection she used on the title instigated a chuckle from Nathaniel. "Somehow I don't find that hard to believe."

Eyes heavy, she couldn't resist closing them. She yawned once more and pulled the layers of blankets over her clothed body. "Thanks again, Lieutenant."

"Call me Nate tonight," he said through a smile. He must have thought she was asleep already because he rose and turned to leave her tent.

"I felt the bond today," she murmured in her sleepy stupor, " _Lieutenant._ "

Hale could feel him standing, looking down at her for a few long moments. "Sleep well, milady," his gruff voice hummed before she heard his footsteps leave her tent. Grinning, she drifted off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21: In War

_Lingering glances reflected the not-so secret they shared of their passion from the night before. Giggles and playful nudges passed back and forth as they walked that morning through a nearby village on their way to the Brecilian Forest._

 _Darkspawn attacked, as usual. They came to expect as much during their Blight travels. The fight was quick, and the darkspawn eliminated. The oddball collection of mages and warriors had done this enough times to know how to effectively demolish these enemies, now little more than bothersome._

 _The village was deserted, abandoned- as many villages were in their journey. Villagers fled to find safe haven, and those left died when their town was attacked by darkspawn._

 _Caoilainn suggested they split up into pairs to cover more space; as always, Alistair was at her side. The party scavenged for what they could, supplies, food, money, and items they could sell._

 _Floorboards creaked in the abandoned home Caoilainn and Alistair entered. Exploring with care, and showing whatever respect they could to the home that was no longer occupied, they opened chests, cabinets and drawers to find anything of value. Caoilainn insisted they take every effort to leave undisturbed that which was not essential._

 _She walked with soft steps into a bedroom. A child's room, she quickly determined by the small bed, and toys littered on the floor. Thick dust clung to the surfaces and floated in the air. Boot prints, impressions in the dust left with each step. Her breath held as she explored. Tender, delicately, she lifted a wooden figure from the floor. It was a knight, with a small sword and shield. This was a boy's room._

 _Oberon, her mabari, barked from outside. Her gaze locked onto the toy._ Screams, blood-curdling cries sounded in her mind; the yelling made her heart race. _She closed her eyes to make the noises go away. This had happened before; she knew it wasn't real. But it was too late to stop it. Losing connection with her body, her fingers went numb. The room disappeared from around her, and there she was, back in Castle Cousland._ Throat choked with dread as she opened the door from her room to the commotion. The memory blurred, there were enemies, fighting, fear. She had been taught how to fight and the movements came naturally, but she had never killed a man until now. It was frighteningly easy.

Then she found Oren's body and Oriana's lay next to it. Tears streamed down her face, hot from panic. _Her cheeks blanched, and the toy dropped from her hand._

 _"My love?" A voice cooed from far away, too far from where she was in this memory. Hands touched her shoulders, but she couldn't feel them. She was numb._

She stepped into the larder and saw her father lying, bleeding everywhere. Her heart stopped, she couldn't speak. Mother was right by her side. They both encouraged her. 'She will leave her mark on the world.' _Tears poured._

 _She couldn't breathe and she gasped. Flashes of the surrounding room showed Alistair, caring, reaching out. "Caoilainn!" He called, but he sounded distant, like a dream._

'Then… go pup. Warn your brother. Know that you do us proud.'

 _The room came back, but she lost all support from her knees. Everything went black; Alistair caught her. "Caoilainn, my love. You're all right. Wake up." He stroked her hair, worry present in his voice but he didn't sound surprised, as if he had seen this before. He blew softly on her face._

 _Her eyelids fluttered open, the room around her came into focus. The man holding her now clear. Alistair, armored, knelt with one knee to the ground, holding her in his arms. Blood rushed back to her face. The air cool against her tear-stained cheeks. Caoilainn gave Alistair a weak smile and then wrapped her arms around his neck. He reciprocated the hug._

 _"Thank you," she whispered in his ear, gripping him closely. Her heart rate slowed._

 _"Oh no need," he laughed awkwardly. "... Catching fainting ladies is my specialty."_

 _She gave a tired giggle, releasing from their embrace. "Is that so? Since when?" Grateful for his humor as a distraction from her moment of weakness, her cheeks blushed and her eyes looked up from a sheepish downward glance._

 _"Since just now," he informed. "For you, I'd master anything, my love." Alistair smiled and lifted her chin to face him fully. "But I draw the line at darning socks. I'll be damned if I become a sock darner."_

 _Her giggles continued. "You have my word, Alistair. I swear to her Beloved Andraste, by all that is good and right in this world: I will never ask you to darn socks."_

 _"Good. Then it's settled," he said with a stern nod of chin as he tucked loose hairs behind her ear. "So are you going to tell me what happened just then?"_

 _"It's nothing," she looked away._

 _"No," he played. "I know what nothing looks like and that wasn't it. That was definitely something. What happened?"_

 _Caoilainn sighed in defeat. She knew he had seen this happen before."I keep having memories. They feel very real."_

 _She looked to Alistair who gazed back with raised and expectant eyebrows. He wasn't budging on receiving a more detailed reply. Having just witnessed the woman he loved, the leader of their group, and one of the most strong-willed individuals he had ever met fall to the floor by no other provocation than a wooden toy, Alistair's concern would not be sated that simply._

 _And Caoilainn knew he deserved an explanation. With another sigh she continued. "Memories of the night Howe betrayed my father, my whole household. I keep seeing my nephew dead… my father dying. The blood. My mother… I left her there. I left her to die, Alistair. I can still hear the screaming, the yelling. And the words my father said before we left… It all still rings in my ears." She trailed off, staring off into nothing._

 _Valuing her vulnerability but recognizing the look he saw in her eyes as similar to when he walked in the room, Alistair interrupted. "I told you so."_

 _Caoilainn's eyebrows wrinkled, and she blinked from her far off look to gaze at him questioningly._

 _"It_ was _something," he grinned. "And now it's official."_

 _"What is?" She asked, grinning with relief in expectation of his humor._

 _"We stay together forever…. You know, just in case you ever faint again."_

 _"Oh, of course. Because now I'm such a damsel in distress." She raised her hand to her forehead and mocked fainting._

 _Supporting her in his arms, Alistair laughed as Caoilainn dramatically arched backwards. "The look suits you," he chuckled. She instantly lifted up and shot daggers at him with her eyes. Alistair assured, "I'm kidding!"_

 _"Uh-huh, sure you are." She laughed before guiding her arms back around his neck and hugging him tightly. "Alistair," she whispered into his ear. "When all this is said and done... please don't leave me."_

 _"Never, my love."_

* * *

Nathaniel managed a few hours of sleep and woke before dawn. His body had long since accustomed to waking on its own prior to sunrise. But this morning, he was particularly groggy due to the events of the previous night. The grogginess of the morning was not in vain as it provided him with a remarkably clear assessment of at least one of their enemies.

Despite Hale's rebellious fleeing from camp, she brought back critical information that could not only save the lives of Orlesian Wardens, but also prevent the strength of the enemy, and gain the Inquisition an ally. In a sense, he was proud of her. She showed wit, fortitude, and resourcefulness in a dire situation thus surpassing Caoilainn's expectations.

The Wardens rose and packed their necessities in silence. They left behind their tents and horses and gathered in a circle.

"Our mission is to observe," Nathaniel informed the group. "Remember this. We don't have the power to take on any of these enemies on our own. We want to approximate numbers, any special weapons, and any other intel we may gather without engaging with these groups. We expect to find Venatori, Red Templars, and even some Orlesian Grey Wardens among the enemy forces." Nathaniel scanned the group, his eyes lingering on Hale's for a moment longer than the rest. She attempted to look disinterested, or so he thought, but a tiny smile crept to the edges of her lips. Though he withheld from smiling back, something about her reaction satisfied him. "We have come across information about these Wardens that could aid us in battle. But we must not engage with them; don't get close enough for them to sense you." Philippa and Aiden walked up beside Nathaniel, who gestured to them. "The mages will aid our scouting."

One hand rooted on her hip and the other holding her staff, Philippa spoke to her audience. "Quite. Thanks, in part to myself and Aidan, you will move faster and quieter while under our spells. Combined with your superb stealth, you will practically be invisible. Line up, my dears and hold still."

The mages closed their eyes and concentrated their energy. Light emanated from their staves and encircled members, one a time until they all glowed a soft orange. The Wardens were mostly unimpressed with an experience familiar to them. But Nathaniel's gaze found Hale again, curious to see how she would respond to the magic. Her eyes were large with quiet wonderment. She shifted on her feet and examined her hands.

"We'll spot those vipers. Those cheap Venatori bitches and the Red Templars won't have any idea we're there if we scout wisely," Philippa concluded as she completed her spell.

"Wisely is the key word here, scouts," Nathaniel added. "We'll be on foot from now until we get back. Be careful and don't get too close. Questions?"

They all nodded back; their fists rising to their chests saluting Nathaniel. Silently, they packed final items into their bags, taking only what was most necessary for the next few days of scouting. The Wardens set out.

Brisk steps, intervals of jogging took them through the Emerald Graves, into the Arbor Wilds toward the Temple of Mythal. Those skilled in the trees skulked like wild cats through the limbs, finding themselves faster by balancing and leaping from branches than jogging on foot; Hale was among them.

They took well over a day to near the Temple, at which point they stopped to rest. Determination and wherewithal kept the Wardens awake. Experienced scouts knew that this part of their journey always required stamina and fortitude. This challenging aspect of scouting missions quickly weeded out those adept for scouting from those who were better for simple tasks of darkspawn extermination.

As Nathaniel expected, Hale sprightliness was pervasive. She remained alert and active, conversing with Damia as the other's took short naps and ate lightly.

His mind still racked at his hesitation with the young huntress. Hale's forwardness was refreshing, yet he found every reason to turn her away the day prior. He had always maintained integrity with the other women he slept with, never using his position as Lieutenant to beguile or pressure them. It required little effort to find a companion for the night when he wanted one. Guilty of the occasional romp in a tavern or tent with his female comrades- even when Caoilainn ordered otherwise- this particular young woman's attention should have been no different. But it was.

Efforts to put the thoughts of her out of his mind were moderately successful.

After they rested, the Wardens reconvened their scouting mission. Their whispering movements were quick, stalking the forest to gain vantage points in the dark hours of the morning. Lurking near the furthest reaches of the armies that waited for the Inquisition at the Temple of Mythal. They counted, approximating numbers. Staked out in trees and spread among the woods they watched the activity of the enemy for any notable information through the better part of the day. When Nathaniel determined that as much valuable information could be gathered as possible, he signaled for them to regroup a safe distance from the Temple. Another chance to eat lightly, anything to get them through the run back to the Forward Camp, the Wardens rested again before starting the final leg of their mission through the night and following day.

* * *

The Inquisition and its respective allies arrived at the Forward Camp the next evening.

"The scouts should arrive shortly," Cullen reported to the Inquisitor in her large tent, having met with the Inquisition officers stationed at the camp and gathering whatever information was available about the status of the scouts' mission.

The Inquisitor stood at a nearby table discussing strategical elements with Cullen and her party. Caoilainn sat across from Alistair. He had been quiet since joining the meeting, occasionally offering a reassuring smile to Caoilainn. His silence concerned Caoilainn, sensing his discomfort at the pending additions to the meeting.

Before Caoilainn could say anything to Alistair, the sound of voices from outside interrupted her. A moment later, three Wardens sauntered into the tent. Nathaniel stood in the middle, looking as smug as ever; Philippa stood on one side and Hale on the other. Reactively, Caoilainn's eyes narrowed at the unexpected combination of her soldiers. Something was different about Nathaniel and she couldn't place it. Furthermore, she could feel the tension in the room. Alistair's gaze was heavy, a critical eye in constant surveillance of Caoilainn and Nathaniel.

Fists to their chests, Nathaniel and Philippa saluted Caoilainn; Hale mirrored them when she recognized the protocol.

"Report, Lieutenant," Caoilainn saluted back and spoke firmly.

"To all of us, please," Alanna's voice echoed Caoilainn's as she came around the table to stand beside her. Alistair rose from his chair and stood near Cullen. Both men crossed their arms.

Nathaniel paused until the movement in the room settled. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Of course, Commander." He dipped his head to Alanna. "Inquisitor. We gathered information about the numbers and movement of the Venatori and Red Templars. They are defending the temple. We believe the enemy has information on the Inquisition forces' arrival."

"That much is expected," Cullen voiced from where he stood. "They have their own scouts on patrol to take information to their Lieutenant, Samson."

Nathaniel nodded and continued. "We outnumber them. They were not prepared for the growth of the Inquisition forces."

"Good," Alanna stated. "That will be an advantage."

"But we came across Grey Wardens fighting in the name of Corypheus," Nathaniel said, worry lined his tone. His eyes darted to Caoilainn, questioning if he should proceed. She nodded silently.

"Oh?" Alanna asked. "What did you find?"

"We sent a…," he paused to find the right word, "spy into their encampment to learn their plans." Caoilainn observed Hale's grin; the young Elf's chest swelled in pride to Nate's statement.

The Inquisitor squinted at her cousin, but before she could say anything Alistair gave a short, cynical laugh. "Do tell, Lieutenant Howe. You crossed right into another's territory… discovering secrets? Stealing… information? Sneaky. Of course, infiltration is a well-practiced skill of yours. It's in your blood, isn't it?"

Caoilainn's heart stopped and her eyes dashed between Alistair and Nathaniel. _Damn it, Alistair. Not here._ But her concern remained unspoken, certain that anything she said would simply make matters worse. Alistair stood with his chest lifted and Nathaniel glared back.

Alanna raised her eyebrows, passing surprised glances at both men but she did not interrupt. The others in the tent remained silent despite the palpable discomfort.

Before anyone managed to respond, Hale pointed her finger across the tent to Alistair and blurted out, "Hey! I was the spy, arsehole. What of it?" Her hand came back and tapped on her chest. "Sometimes you gotta do bad things to stop the bad guys from doing worse things."

"It's all right, Hale." Nathaniel put his arm in front of Hale to keep her back. "His Majesty is merely exercising his right to talk down to whoever he wishes." She stopped speaking but she held her scowl at Alistair. Alanna's head lowered, and she covered her eyes with her hand.

"Enough!" Caoilainn yelled, stepping forward between the gaze of the two men. "Junior Warden, stand down. Lieutenant, your order was to report." Her frown was deep, but her tone was level.

"Hale," Alanna's hand slid to her forehead as she spoke. "Perhaps you could refrain from calling the King of Ferelden an arsehole from this point forward?"

Hale glared at Alanna then looked at the wall of the tent. Shifting on her feet she muttered under her breath, "not my king." Caoilainn noticed Nathaniel's lips curving up in a stifled grin and Alistair's presence near Cullen remained rigid.

"What we found was quite alarming," Nathaniel explained what Hale discovered and what Philippa had delineated from that information. "Philippa suggests that our Warden mages will be able to recover the Orlesian Wardens… with blood magic."

The group fell silent again. The blatant looks of displeasure from most of the attendees of the meeting visible in their expressions, particularly the Inquisition's Commander who stared at Alanna with wide eyes.

"Please explain, Philippa," Alanna acknowledged Philippa.

"Gladly." Philippa hands planted on her hips. She spoke to the non-magical individual's in the meeting. "Before you all get your panties in a twist: Grey Wardens may use blood magic since such magic creates us." She lectured the tent of people. "The magic I propose would allow the mages of Caoilainn's troop to control the corrupted Wardens with blood magic after the destruction of the demons they have bonded, the result of the ritual they performed for Corypheus." Philippa addressed Caoilainn directly. "Your mages will hold the Orlesian Wardens with magic until the demons are destroyed."

"Warden, report any risks." Hands clasped behind her back, Caoilainn ordered Philippa.

"Of course, Commander." Philippa dipped her head to Caoilainn respectfully. "As with any magic there is a risk. This will require a sufficient expenditure of energy from us, dear. It's possible we may run out."

"And what happens then?" Caoilainn asked.

"Bluntly," Philippa responded with a smug grin, "we lose control and the corrupted Wardens attack us."

"If they touch us, it will force the false Calling," Nathaniel added, the worry back in his voice.

Caoilainn nodded in thought. It was a substantial risk, potentially compromising the stability of her entire army. Thought it also provided an opportunity to strengthen their numbers and save a significant number of Orlesian Wardens. The others in attendance of this meeting stood silent, waiting for Caoilainn to respond.

"We've dedicated time to strengthening our mages," Caoilainn informed Alanna first, then spoke to the rest of the group. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"If they attack, the Inquisition will be obligated to treat them as any other hostile enemy," Cullen added from behind the table.

"I understand," Caoilainn nodded to him.

"Then it's settled," Alanna addressed the Wardens in front of her, gaze staying on Hale as she spoke. "Thank you for the information you have gathered. It will aid us in this battle. You may leave while we finalize our plans before we depart tomorrow."

Hale and Philippa bowed to the Inquisitor and Caoilainn first and departed. Nathaniel followed suit, but his gaze held with Caoilainn's for a fraction of a second longer than the rest. She bowed back and returned to the meeting. The group discussed the final stages of their preparation for the battle at the Temple of Mythal and when the Inquisitor and her private party would make their way to the Temple. When these details were determined, the meeting adjourned.

Caoilainn pulled Alistair to the side before she returned to the Warden encampment. With a soft "I love you," followed by a kiss on the cheek, she wished him a good night. He smiled, pleased with her affection. After wishing her the same and a few short words, the pair separated for the night to attend to their responsibilities.

Tired, worn from the day and the feat of a meeting with so many contributors, she entered the Grey Warden camp. She spotted Nathaniel talking with Philippa and Hale as she walked to her tent and signaled for him to follow her.

She entered and had but a moment to breathe. Only a small table and a cot filled her tent, both untidied. The evening sounds of cicadas provided steady background to the activity of the camps.

Caoilainn allowed her arms to slacken and slouch at her sides. Her head rolled forward and back on her shoulders. Staring at the ceiling, she sighed. Nathaniel walked in.

Barely glancing in his direction, Caoilainn asked with indifference,"Do you have any more to report?"

"A _report,_ Commander?" He squinted, studying her reaction with a lifted a brow. "My, you are in a risk-taking mood this evening."

He stepped closer, confident, brazen, and she put her hand up to stop him. The energy he emitted was all too comfortable, and definitely not welcome.

"No," she ordered. "No more."

"What?" He halted and frowned. His tone conveyed genuine confusion.

"No more, Nate," she restated. "This game between us. It's over."

"Sure," Nathaniel's amused chuckle followed him crossing his arms, "You've said that before."

It was true, she had. Guilt spurred from the affair, ate her from the inside from the moment it began. And before she returned to the castle from Vigil's Keep she told Nate they were finished. But her own presumed inadequacy as Alistair's wife brought her back to commanding. The liaisons with Nathaniel also resumed.

"I mean it." Her chin lifted. Though her words were brief, they were final. There was no question or insecurity in her voice. "I choose Alistair."

"Oh," his brow furrowed with skepticism. "Good for you then. I'm happy for you."

The air in the tent was stifled, awkward. Despite the casualness of their relationship, she was close to Nathaniel. Ending this aspect of their relationship would require changes in their communication, the way they engaged as Commander and Lieutenant.

Caoilainn said, "I was referring to your quest. Do you have a report on the Elf girl?"

"Yes," Nate replied. He shook his head for just a moment to clear his thoughts then stood straighter, feet wide. He clasped his hands behind his back. "She is smart and a skilled archer. The young huntress has a knack for strategy and creative thinking, but she has a temper she has yet to maintain."

"I expected as much," Caoilainn spoke as she moved around to the table in her tent. She looked through some papers on the table. "Did you sleep with her?" Her tone remained indifferent, unaffected by the answer she awaited.

Nathaniel cleared his throat and paused before replying, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink. "No, Commander."

"But you wanted to," Caoilainn added, looking up to him. She knew Nate well enough to read him. "She's young, Nate and the Inquisitor's cousin. I trust that she will continue to be a valuable addition to the Wardens."

"I'm well aware," he replied. His brow lifted in annoyance at her question.

"Don't hurt her," she made eye contact with him, her voice stern. Nathaniel simply nodded.

The silence sat between them, heavy, weighted with unspoken words. Caoilainn knew Nathaniel would do what he wanted, and she also trusted him to refrain from abuse of his power. Furthermore, the young woman was an adult. Grey Wardens forfeited their lives for the order. If the girl could make a decision so significant for herself, Caoilainn trusted Hale as capable of handling her emotions with Nate if she wanted him. Whatever solace Wardens could find in guilty pleasures with one another was a small reprieve to the fate they all faced.

"I won't," Nathaniel said.

"Good," Caoilainn went back to the papers on the table. "You're dismissed."

* * *

Her warmth, Alistair still felt the kiss on his cheek before Caoilainn left the Inquisitor's tent to return to the Wardens. The kiss filled him with hope. It reminded him how he longed for humor, wanting nothing more than for them to enjoy each other's company, laughing about nothing in particular. Unable to sit still in his tent, he left to find Caoilainn.

He reached the Warden encampment, activity waning as her soldiers dispersed to their quarters. The light in Caoilainn's quarters glowed under the hems of her tent, but just as he neared the tent flap opened, releasing more light and Nathaniel departed.

Grimacing, Alistair locked eyes with Nathaniel as he passed. The man stared back, brow lifted in snark amusement and accentuated by a subtle smirk.

Suddenly livid, Alistair's heart pounded with rage, and he felt light-headed. Stunned by the wordless audacity of the Lieutenant, the snake, Alistair's mind raced with vicious thoughts. He stormed into Caoilainn's tent.

"What was that?!" He yelled at Caoilainn, his hand pointing to the tent flap he walked through.

Caoilainn gasped; looking up from the table where she stood, confused and startled. "What?"

"Your Lieutenant," his voice shook, boiling and volatile. "Did you…?" He struggled to find the words. "No! I don't want to know. Caoilainn, I have waited. I have been patient. I have tried to forgive you-"

"Alistair, wait, no." Caoilainn moved around the table, her hand lifting to stop his tirade. Her voice was gentle, pleading. "It's not like that."

"Oh, it isn't?" Still seething, Alistair ignored her. "The look that bastard just gave me said otherwise. The bastard, mind you, who has been sleeping with my wife for the last ten years. Ten fucking years, Caoilainn. I'm done trying. I'm done." His eyes welled with hot, agitated tears. His face red, the vein in his forehead prominent.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and her bottom lip pursed. Her face contorted in desperation. Through shallow breaths she tried to keep calm as her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

"My love," she spoke calmly. Nearing him, she lifted her hand to touch him. "It's not what you think. I love-"

"Stop." Lip sneering in disgust, he backed away from her hand and interrupted. "No, you don't. I don't know if you ever did." His words were cold and accusatory, the doubt of her love stabbed into her like blades. "I'll see you on the battlefield, Commander."

He turned and left the way he came.


	22. Chapter 22: The Fox and the Wolf

The King's comment on his name, insults to his household embittered Nathaniel. Granted, he had been sleeping with the Queen of Ferelden off and on for the last ten years; the King might be perturbed. But to be treated like a pariah for the misdeeds of his father, followed by Caoilainn's permanence to the end of their trysts left a bad taste in Nathaniel's mouth. Regardless of the honesty of his happiness for Caoilainn, her dismissal of him was aggravating.

The look he gave to Alistair on the way out of Caoilainn's tent was intended to rile and by the expression on the King's face, it was successful.

Night fell and approaching rain made the air heavy, humid. Though most people were already sleeping, the tension of an army preparing for battle hummed throughout the encampment. Alive, the army was anxious for war and dreading the reality that death may await any of them within the next few days.

Nathaniel returned to his tent without another thought of the events of the day. Muscles ached despite his well-trained sinew; his body worn from the scouting mission _. I'm too old for this_.

Before he entered, he sensed eyes on him; movement, quiet and sly sneaking around the nearby trees.

"What do you want, Hale?" His tone was impatient, annoyed with the young woman. General exhaustion combined with the events of the evening, Alistair's insult, and Caoilainn's severance put him in a sour mood.

"Wanted to show you something," her voice was obstinate. Nathaniel turned around to face her, and she stood with her hands on her hips, frowning. "But if you're in a bad fucking mood…" she trailed off, offering bait for him to inquire.

He sighed, torn between the comfort of his bedroll calling his name on the other side of the tent flap and satisfying the desire of the young huntress. She was a vibrant and pleasant distraction. Intrigued in spite of his exhaustion, lured by the mischievous fire in Hale's eyes, he humored her. "All right, show me."

Familiar hunger rumbled somewhere deep inside.

She took his hand and dragged him away, into the thick forest of the Emerald Graves. Their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The pair hiked over rocks and fallen trees, making careful and deliberate steps through the uneven terrain until Hale stopped and turned to face him. The light of the large Inquisition encampment was visible in the distance. Moonlight from between the clouds drifting slowly through the starry night sky, shone down through the trees onto her face. Cascading silver light, twinkling the brightness of the lively, green pools that stared up at him. Her gaze filled with intent and fervor.

He realized why she brought him here a moment before she leaned in. His hands raised to her shoulders, pushing her back ever so gently.

"Hale," he said, breathy and tired. Though his appetite gnawed at the back of his mind, hungry for the meal Hale was offering, he withheld.

"Come on," Hale mirrored, her tone coated with impatient irritation. Her hands again found her hips. "I know you want me."

"I do," he confessed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's not the problem."

She stared back, brow cocked in inquiry.

"The problem is I know I _will_ want more. I didn't like seeing you hurt the other day, huntress." He referred to her injury from falling from the tree, and more specifically the way it hampered her spirit.

A condescending smile spread across Hale's face, the white of her canines distinct in the moonlight. "Listen arsehole, I've been through a lot of shite in my day. And here I am, putting my life on the line, same as you."

The pending battle loomed over their shoulders. Nate was well aware of the violent fire it lit in himself; he assumed the same for the huntress.

"I'm not one for commitment and I don't want to be the one that hurts you," he interrupted and clarified his concern. Since as far as Nate knew he was incapable of relationships, he made it a general rule to avoid them. But as he processed, he realized he cared for the persistent young woman, in spite of his attempts to stay away. This conversation would not occur otherwise. _Of all the women to care for, a 19-year-old Dalish girl from the Alienage with a mouth like a sailor. Father would be so proud._

"Neither am I. Don't flatter yerself. You ain't gonna break my pretty little heart." She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Ploughing don't mean we gotta get married." Her lips brushed against his ear and she bit the bottom of his earlobe, pulling the skin down before releasing. It was a bold move he was not expecting. "Maybe you're scared I'll break your heart, old man."

He growled at the sensation, his senses activated, craving her more and staying the urge to pin her against a tree and take her right there. _Old man_. The countless times Caoilainn had called him that ran through his mind. It surged his voracity with ire.

"I'll make you pay for that," he grumbled, smirking and stepping toward the huntress.

Hale laughed. "That's only if you can catch me," she smiled, flashing her canines again before she turned on her heels and ran further from the encampment. Swiftly rushing through the trees, he watched the huntress gain distance.

Nate sighed again before he pursued. His own speed quickly returning, unhampered by his tiredness, rather reawakened with a second-wind of energy. Ground gained, moving closer, he chased her. Breath steadied as he ran, taking long inhales and slowed exhales to extend his stamina. Like a wolf targeting his next meal, preying upon the huntress to sate his appetite, Nate hunted. He starved for her far longer and far more intensely than he had craved any other woman.

As he neared, the sound of her breath was audible. Rain fell, creating a light shower that dripped on the tops of the trees, mirroring the silvery night. Water slid off of the leaves overhead and onto their heated bodies.

She must have felt how close he was. She stopped and turned around. The lights from camp nowhere in sight. They locked eyes, oblivious to the dampness, their faces glistening by the night sky reflected in the soft shower. Grinning, she stepped backwards, baiting him. Her wet and slender body luring him closer. Nate's pace slowed, hair drenched, sticking to his face, his chest heaved as he moved in on her.

When there was nothing but an arm's length between them, she halted. Trapped at bay between Nathaniel and a tree until he pinned her against it. His hands found her hips, applying pressure, overwhelming his prey. He met her mouth with his own. Igniting the fire between them, colliding with a growl. She whimpered under his pressure, delightfully weak to his hunger. His lips parted hers and their tongues crashed while he pushed her against the tree. Her body lifted, feet barely on the ground and her hands found his hair, ardently holding the sides of his face. The passionate rise and fall of her chest, drenched from the rain fall. They paused for air. She moaned as she caught her breath. He grinned, panting.

"Call me an old man again and see what happens," he tested. Hard, his bulge pressed against his breeches. It was uncomfortable, irritating. Motivating.

"Mmm, let me finish what I started the other night… old man," she said breathy, panting. Her hands slid between their bodies to unbuckle the belt over his armor.

He didn't give her the space, rather he pushed against her harder. "No," he murmured gruffly _. It's my turn._ He grabbed her narrow wrists with one hand and lifted them over her head. With his other hand, he took his time unbuckling her belt, leaning his head in to kiss her. Patient, slowed, his lips touched hers, his tongue sensually gliding in, teasing the young and ambitious energy of the Elf. Releasing her wrists, they fell to his shoulders as his hand carefully wrapped around her neck. The faintest pressure pushed against her, holding her still. He bit her lip and tugged as her belt dropped to the ground.

His hand moved from her waist to her thigh. Lifting her long, lithe leg up to his side, resting it on his hip while he unlaced her boot.

Hale, wrought nearly speechless, whined, "Lieutenant."

The pent desire he felt for her finally unleashed, no longer tamed, now freed to claim her.

"Milady," he purred as he pulled off her boot and lowered her leg, following the same pattern with the other leg.

She felt like putty in his hands; his certainty, sureness with the way he moved enraptured Hale. It was clear he had a plan for her though she was unsure what. _The fuck is he doing to me?_ Her body yearned for him, aching all over from head to toe, generating from her core and spreading outward. Their hearts pounded against one another as the rain fell, cleansing and cooling their heated frames.

Nate lowered her leg and dropped her other boot to the ground. His large hands reached to either side of her breeches, aggressively yanking open the laces. With a growl, her long, clever fingers dragged across his skin, through his hair. Her head leaned in and kissed his neck. Ravenous and wild, she bit him, then sucked at the red blotch of teeth marks she left. He pulled her breeches down her hips until she shimmied them off, followed by her small clothes. The air found her heat, so moist, magnified by the humidity brushing against her beneath her tabard.

Before she could think, Nate lifted her again. Her feet no longer touched the ground. Her hands rested around his head which was level with her waist. Lifted this high, she grabbed nearby branches to support her. Her shoulders pressed against the tree.

"Say my name," Nate murmured before he pushed her up higher, moving her legs around, over his shoulders. Stepping away from the tree as her torso stretched; his head between her thighs, his hands rested against the tree beneath her back. Though she was tall for an Elf, her legs long, the huntress was light and easy to hold.

She coyly glanced down her chest to lock eyes with the man gazing up at her; the man breathing against her heat, his eyes cunning, ready. Textures of leather, coarse fabric and chainmail caressed her rear. "Oh gods… Maker… fucking Andraste." She'd never prayed to any deities but now she muttered their names in nervous succession.

Nathaniel leaned in, his breath closer to her. Tongue curious, skilled, teasing her folds. She squirmed, pleasantly tortured by his stubble, and the patch of hair under his lower lip. Gasping, blithely hissing in response to his technique, she felt the smile on his lips as his head nestled in her slickness. Her stomach was tight, tense and trusting, amazed with the fantasy brought to life.

Though Nate swelled against his breeches, keenly aware of his beckoning needs, his mouth-watered for the beautiful creature resting on his shoulders in anticipation. His mouth played with her, coaxing a moan. He laughed, humming into her drenched folds, savoring her flavor. Supporting her body, he looked up to catch her staring at him in wonderment. He paused and gently repeated his order. "Say my name, milady." His tongue returned to tactful, targeted flicks against her pearl.

"Lieutenant!" She whined.

He continued for a few moments. Lapping at her, appreciating the convulsions of her legs; her hands trembling as they grasped the branches overhead. The muscles in her arms flexed, her belly taut as she held on to the tree, rocking her hips into him.

He paused again. Licking up from the center to her nub before pulling away. Her honey covered his face; she saw the moisture glistening in the silver light. "Say. My. Name."

His gaze lingered, eyes piercing her from below as he returned to his meal, exploring every valley of her heat with his tongue. His nose slid against her bundle, his clever tongue teasing her entrance, then thrusting into her core. She gasped, then giggled through a moan, "fucking... whoreson." Her hips continued to roll against his face. She felt his smile joined by a grumbling chuckle.

But his tongue continued until he felt her muscles tightening, her panting shorter, moans louder and more frequent. He stopped again, pulling away from her wetness and grinning. "Hale, say my name or I'll stop," he rasped before returning to her pink.

Voracious, hungered, he growled into her as his tongue entered. The hum radiated from his chest and vibrated his lips against her slick, creamy flesh. Her legs tightened again, her moans quick and short, rising in octaves as he continued. Helpless laughs escaped her. "Oh fuck," she whimpered. "Oh Nathaniel," her whines escalated and her body stilled. Her thighs clung to him and her head tilted back, resting on the tree as she watched him, "Nate. Nate. Nate…" She gasped and held her breath, arching her back as her hips writhed toward him. She lost all other sensation aside from overwhelming release. His skilled tongue continued through her peak; she sighed a relieved shudder.

Delicately, he moved her legs out from over him, guiding them around his waist. He pressed her into the tree, supporting her weight against it while he wiped his face with his hand.

Cheeks tinged with pink up to the tips of her ears, flushed with excitement, Hale's mouth curled into a smile. She pulled him in for a kiss. The taste of herself clung to his lips. Pushing, desperate for more, urging him to continue and fueling her fire, she moaned into his mouth. Their tongues sloppy, famished to taste each other.

Nathaniel's hand found her bare thighs, nails drug against the soft skin. She purred and bit his lip, harder this time, provoking a grunt in response.

The messy kiss between them cleansed in the rain as they pulled apart. Soaked through their armor, bodies shivering from the chill and enticement.

"I want you," she groaned, blinking the droplets off her lashes. The rain shower lightened.

"I want you in my tent," he replied, smirking. "... naked, on my bedroll."

Her legs tightened, locked around his lower-back. A sly grin and a seductive brow glanced to her items on the ground. His expression mirrored hers, their thoughts in unison. Nate's strength and stature held her close; he leaned so she could pick up her clothes without letting go.

Trudging on damp earth, his steady steps took them back through the forest.

Hale's stomach, eager and excited, twisted as they walked. The cool air that followed the rain tingled her legs. Nathaniel's arms held under her bottom.

Whispers drifted from her mouth, teasing his ear between nips at the lobe, her tongue explored the ridges with tact. He struggled to keep his eyes open, senses tingling, his groin craving the huntress who clung to him.

"I'm going to plough you harder than you've ever been ploughed," she remarked with a playful, sultry threat.

Nathaniel laughed. "I'm almost certain I'm the one who's supposed to say that." The desire to kiss her, to bite back and make her moan swelled within him but his task required him to focus on the path he followed. "I'll make you scream so loud you wake the encampment," he replied to her cockiness with his own.

She held tighter, shivering, the nerves on her legs standing on end with the cold. "You'd like to think that," she talked back. "I'll make you forget everyone you've had before me."

"I'm counting on it," Nathaniel smirked as they neared the quiet encampment and whispered, "milady."

Cheeks flushed as her chin lifted, she realized the bold statement she made would include the Warden Commander.

Frantic nips and kisses resumed on his neck and ears until Nathaniel found his tent. As soon as he entered, Hale dropped her items on the floor. Balancing herself with his frame, she hopped off and bent to remove her tabard from overhead. She teased her wet hair so that it didn't stick to her skin.

Though their shadows would cascade the tent walls, he wanted to see her. Valuing the sight of the huntress, he lit a new candle and placed it in the corner of his tent. He removed the tie from his black hair, letting it hang at one length at his shoulders.

Nearly naked in front of him, save for her bra and the fabric she wrapped around her breasts, Hale stepped closer. In a similar fashion to the night she had been injured, she removed the fabric, taunting him one layer at a time. Nate watched intently, gluttonously devouring the spectacle she was giving him, removing his boots without breaking his gaze.

The wrap came off, revealing her barely covered breasts, full, unbound, and waiting; her nipples hard, visible through the thin cloth of her bra. She quickly removed that too.

A snarl rolled somewhere in his belly as he beheld the sight of Hale naked. _Maker,_ he admitted to himself, never one to call upon the supposed god prior. Hips curved quaint compared to the abundance of her breasts, and small, simple tattoos decorated her body. He had noticed a few the night Philippa healed her, but he let his eyes greedily wander, appreciating the way they marked her skin.

His gaze made its way up to hers. A tempting smirk looked back at him, testing, inviting. Simultaneously, they stepped toward each other. His hands found her hips, warm despite the chill; her arms wrapped around his neck. Their lips found each other and her head tilted to welcome him. Crashing, gasping, their mouths opened, tongues twirled.

Her kiss continued as her hurried hands moved to his belt, unfastening it and letting it fall to the floor. Nate broke from the kiss to remove his tabard, throwing it on the floor near hers. Together they unlaced his breeches. Impatient and greedy lips met again, kissing until his pants were loose enough to remove. A groan escaped him as he shifted out of his breeches, his length freed from the discomfort. Pants dropped to the ground along with his small clothes before he kicked them off to to the pile they collected.

Her eyes grew larger, her eagerness alight with intensity as she observed him. His physique, lean and muscular, pale compared to hers and covered in far more scars- perfect in her eyes. Hard, large, she had seen his shaft before and it called to her as it had then, but louder this time. More tempting. Promising to be more succulent. She licked her lips.

Those green eyes, twinkling as they stared at his length and her face shaped by red, messy tresses and long, elegantly pointed ears forced his hunger to grow. The crass young woman, talented, intelligent despite her lack of formal education, awed him in the dim light of his tent.

Green eyes met gray. Candlelight danced across their bodies, naked, they gazed at each other in loaded silence.

Until his hand weaved into her tousled locks. He pulled her closer for another heated kiss, locked, impassioned, and filled with heated moans. Hale reached for his member, and when he groaned loudly she used the break in their kiss to lean away, letting go of him. She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him to step back toward his bedroll. Her lips parted and she smirked.

He smiled back, attracted to her brevity. Knees bent and he laid on his back over layers of sheets and blankets. She stepped over him, one foot between his legs, looking down her lean body, challenging his ravenous stare.

Compelled and ardent, her knees met the bedroll as she sat on his thigh. He felt her heat against him, making him groan. She licked her lips again and grabbed his length. Soft kisses on the head given while she peered up at him. Her grin coquettish but her eyes sharp and resolute.

Those lips, capable and willing to produce incredibly rude and inappropriate words, were now delicate and deliberate in the way they framed the head of his shaft. He shuddered as she enclosed him, her spit hot and plentiful. Her lips tightened, sucking as she lowered. Her tongue traced trails along his length.

"Hale," he rasped, watching her bob up and down on him. His fingers laced through her hair, following the motions of her head. Her long digits sheathed him, gripping and sliding up and down in sync with her mouth. Her other hand found his balls, tempting, massaging them.

"Hale," he murmured through rough moans, trying to catch her attention. His hand pulled at her hair, gently at first. "Huntress," he said again, but she ignored him and continued. He pulled harder, and she grumbled with playful laughter; her mouth buzzing on him. He tugged even harder, but she clung, hungry for his length, only releasing when his force required it.

A sinful grin spread on her face as she wiped her mouth with her hand.

"I want to be inside of you," Nathaniel said, informing her, releasing her hair and pushing himself up on his forearms.

Her brow raised, and she shifted so that she kneeled over his waist while she pushed his shoulders back. "This is the part where I fuck you senseless, Lieutenant," she taunted as she lowered herself over him, her hands resting on his torso.

He chuckled in reply, eating up the wondrous spectacle she was to behold.

Her heat, slick- _So fucking wet-_ slid on top of him. She smiled as she moved her moisture, provoking his length with her folds. Every time she slid forward, he was closer to her entrance. Each time she slid back, her eyes closed, delighted at the feel of him rubbing her bundle. His hands found her hips as she glided.

"You're teasing me," he grumbled, watching her between heavy blinks.

"Am I?" She replied just as she angled her hips for him to enter. He watched her intently, straining to keep his eyes focused at the sight of Hale, her small frame, her exquisite breasts above as she sank down onto him. The shadow of her body danced on the tent wall beside her, copying her movements as it flickered intensely.

"Damn," he shuddered as she enveloped him in her heat. She rocked on top of him, her head tilting to the side. Cascading against her chest, the long side of her hair draped down from her head, made even more beautiful by the silhouette of the tips of her ears. He absorbed the sight of her blissful moves on top of him, admiring the grinding of her perfection with him inside. Singing soft moans with her eyes closed, she smiled pleasurably each time she opened them to meet his gaze. Tactfully guiding her hips with voracity, moving faster, moaning louder. Nathaniel's groans matched.

Shameless even though they were in a crowded encampment, neither held much concern with being overheard.

Nate's hand traveled to her wetness as she moved, finding the bundle of nerves, swollen and pulsing within her folds with his thumb. Gasping, Hale's gaze shot to his. She bit her lip, riding him as his finger worked her.

She moaned, escalating, his hips rolled up against hers, matching her force with his. It was too much. The way he found her from the inside, combined with pressure he applied from his thumb making small circles. She tightened.

Hale felt fantastic, he groaned, his balls rising, he focused on her while she was unable to move. He could have brought himself to finish already, but decided if there was ever a time to take advantage of Grey Warden stamina, this was it. Pushing into her with his hips and relentlessly massaging her pearl. Body spasmed, mouth gaped open, eyes closed as she convulsed.

"Nate!" She called. Music to his ears.

His circles slowed as she regained the ability to move. She stared down at him in amazement and he smirked. Pushing up from his forearms, he sat upright; his legs bent and she sat between them. His arms wrapped around her.

Hale bound one arm around his neck and the other she used to support herself. Their bodies pressed against each other, now damp from sweat and not the rain. Her breasts pushed against the bottom of his chin.

While they moved in unison, moaning together, she gasped each time he reached further inside. She watched him, intrigued with the ways he worked her and how she starved for this connection. Her eyebrows furrowed, pleading for more of him. _He's fucking brilliant._

Breasts, supple, round rested right in front of him. Nathaniel's hand cupped one, pushing, massaging as his mouth found her nipple. He sucked, thirst for the pink and tender flesh, hard with arousal at his touch. Biting down, he tugged her nipple as his other hand laced in her thick tresses, gripping harder, rougher than when she sucked him. It coaxed a giggling moan from her as her head tilted back. She enjoyed pain, he confirmed. _She's perfect._

Trust sparked her drive; trust in the Lieutenant's obvious skill and willingness to see what he had in store for her. It motivated her to keep going, to keep up with him, to allow him to continue to provoke one climax after another.

They went faster, harder. He felt her body tightening again and heard the changes in her moans each time he thrust. She was nearing another orgasm, so he centered his attention, pulling it from her as he brought her face to meet his. A passionate kiss, their lips collided. He smirked as she froze on him, her body seizing as he pressed his mouth to hers. Unable to control herself, her mouth fell open, and she whined, reaching the top. She rested for just a moment before matching his rocking with hers. _He's playing me like a damn fiddle._ _Remember to call him old man more often._

He had to slow down or he wouldn't make it much longer. She surrounded him, hugging him, her core gripping at his length each time they moved. Impassioned, the feast they shared, gorging themselves on pleasure, would end soon. He considered the release. Taking a break and going again, wanting to give it to her every way he knew how. But after days of scouting, he knew once he finished he would sleep deeply. He wanted the same for Hale. He also wanted to make sure she remembered this night.

So he slowed his motion and cradled her head, lowering her frame down to the bedroll with care. He rolled her to the side. Appreciating the shape of her silhouette, he ran his hand, large and calloused, along the curve of her hips, her bottom. Hale purred seductively and adjusted to lay on her arm, extending it beyond her head.

Nestling behind her, feeling the warmth of her rear inviting him. She reached behind her, too impatient to wait, wanting more, searching for him. He came closer and guided his length to her entrance. Her wet heat available from the way she laid with her knees bent. Slowly filling her, Nate sank in. His shudder was echoed by her whimper. Arch angled, back curving to increase the room he had to reach her. He stretched out on his arm on the side he laid along the length of her body, legs curving to match hers, his other arm came around to massage her breast.

An undefinable moving pile of their melded shadows projected, flickering on the tent wall by the light of the nearly spent candle.

Gratified moans fell from her as he endured, intimately finding her from the inside. He moved patiently, poignantly, reaching further, pulling her closer.

His fingers brushed her extended hand. They both paused, hearts together skipping a beat, uncertain if the act of hand-holding was beyond their agreement- until he laced his fingers with hers.

Sharing a sigh, her hips rolled against him harder, matching his tempo as it quickened.

Losing control again, her moans changed. Her body clenched with each thrust. She neared another climax, and he wanted her to have it. It built, compiling with each thrust he made, climbing. He was aware of his own pressure building, waiting for release. But he continued to thrust, determined for her to finish again before him. Her cries grew louder, and she gasped between.

"Say my name," he whispered into her ear.

She heard the smirk in his voice, felt his breath on her skin, and her senses couldn't take it. She finished. "Nathaniel... fucking…. Howe," Hale sang with each moan, until she held her breath. Incited by the skilled thrusts of his length, her body seized through wave after wave of the climax he provoked.

The lustful sound of his name, something he never heard from Caoilainn, sung void of denigration to his household; Hale's cry brought a smile to Nate's face. He held her through her peak, cradling her wanton body as she shook.

The candle went out. Hale's cry, along with the sudden darkness stirred his depravity, reawakening his sinful appetite. His hand moved to fondle her throat, and she extended, giving him more to grope at the sensitive skin. Careful, conscious, but unabashed at applying pressure; he adored the feel of her swallowing against his palm. He pushed his hips further, harder and faster, as he held her neck back. Her ears tempted him, their gracious points within reach of his mouth. He blew into one, licking and biting while he thrust.

He was close and more than ready to take permission to release. Prepared to spill, swelled with yearning, Nate grasped Hale's hand tighter and pulled her body closer. Her free hand reached behind her , finding his hair, weaving her fingers into it as she moaned.

He neared; his muscles twitched and tightened. "Hale," he rasped, stretching out her name in a long groan, his face buried in her tresses. He thrust hard, and again, pulsing into her. She whimpered with him as he finished, spending every last drop of himself inside.

Indulged and satisfied, they stayed joined, unmoving for a long moment. Nate tucked her hair behind the point of her ear. They sighed together, catching their breath as their heart rates slowed.

Leaning away, Hale slid off and Nate shuddered. She stood and found her damp attire, locating her small clothes and cleaning herself with them. Comfort waited for Nate in the layers of his bedroll. He found it and studied Hale, curious, waiting for her to join him.

She grabbed her breeches from the pile of clothes and adjusted them to find the waist.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

She looked annoyed at the question, her brow cocked. "Um… putting my clothes on so I don't have to walk through camp with my arse out." Though she felt something she couldn't quite understand for the Lieutenant, she had no desire to pretend this interaction was more than just fun. Her past sexual encounters never included spending the night.

Nate snorted. "Why don't you sleep here?" He glanced at the small, but empty spot next to him in the bedroll. Mainly to avoid awkward goodbyes the next morning, sharing his bed was not something Nate offered his other companions aside from Caoilainn. He couldn't ignore Hale as an exception to the rule. All the rules.

"Don't wanna get in trouble," she responded. Her expression reflected her opinion that the answer was obvious. "Sorry friend, but you ain't worth a reprimand."

"Yes I am," he smirked. "But you won't get in trouble, I promise. I wish I could say the same for myself."

"Oh, shut it," she grinned down at him and called his bluff. Her pants fell to the ground as her hands found her hips. "You can do whatever and whoever you want, _Lieutenant._ " Adventurous and brimming with curiosity, she opted to join him. Whatever drew her to Nathaniel prevailed.

"That's usually true," he shrugged, making space for her as she crawled into bed with him. "The camp will talk, you know. I'm sure everyone heard us."

"Let them," Hale said through a yawn. "I don't give a flying fuck what people say." She snuggled into him, resting on her side with her back to his chest, similar to the position they finished.

"I believe that," Nate grinned. Sleep beckoned him. With this lovely creature, the huntress, naked and nestled next to him, their legs entwined, he was certain the rest would be superb. It would be well needed before the march for battle that awaited them at dawn.


	23. Chapter 23: In Death

Sunlight peeked through the cracks of Nathaniel's tent, shining directly onto Hale's face. Her eyelids fluttered open. It took a moment for her to remember where she lay, now in the opposite position she and Nathaniel fell asleep in. She curved around his back, clinging snugly to his frame; her arm wrapped around his chest, tangled with his. _This is way too comfortable_. She thought, unsure how to interpret the pleasantness of whatever it was they were doing. _Am I… cuddling with the Lieutenant?_

She pried herself from him, paced, careful motions to unweave her arm from under his, pulling away from his torso. With precision, she rose to dress in silence; her deft hands pulled on her clothes, now mostly dried from the night before.

Nathaniel slept through it.

The man always the first to rise in camp, whose honed skills as a scout had repeatedly caught her sneaking, including once from a dead sleep, didn't even rustle as Hale tiptoed from his tent.

* * *

 _Finally,_ Caoilainn thought, grateful for the approaching dawn. Having tossed and turned through the night, restless, sad, and longing to remedy the situation with Alistair but having no idea how, she admitted defeat. At least for the time being. She stared off into the horizon, steeling herself for the obligations of Warden Commander and preparation for the pending battle.

 _We can figure this out after._

"Blood of my blood!" She called lovingly, waking any in the camp still sleeping. Her voice rang through the large circle of tents. "My Wardens, it's time to rise. Eat quickly, pack the camp, and we will join the Inquisition march!"

The dutiful Wardens rose, respecting her words. Meals eaten, soldiers bathed, blue and white armor donned, they packed. The Grey Wardens mirrored the pattern of the Inquisition encampment. Waves of tents collapsing, soldiers working together to break down their resting place for the night.

Caoilainn stood at the center of the Wardens as they gathered, having eaten and washed- herself included. Head held high, shoulders wide, her posture communicating her strength, she waited until the crowd settled. Few would notice the downward slope of her eyes, the delay in her smile, or the recurrent absent look she gave, gazing off toward the Ferelden section of the larger encampment.

Nathaniel was of the last of the Wardens to join the circle around the Warden Commander. He ignored the confused looks of those surrounding him. His mind fixated on one thing as his focused gaze milled through the soldiers for Hale. When his eyes landed on hers on the opposite side of the circle, standing relaxed among her Junior Warden peers she grinned and winked. _She does not cease to amaze me._

A few whispers of 'Nathaniel fucking Howe' echoed behind him, but none spoke loud enough for him to target the speakers. He ignored them. If anyone had identified the woman calling his name the night prior, they didn't treat the huntress any differently. As usual, most of the other Junior Wardens kept a small distance from her.

"Wardens," Caoilainn called, "we face an enemy that serves pure evil. You have trained well to be Grey Wardens though some longer than others. And now is the time to put what you've learned to use." She paused, smiling at the Wardens that surrounded her. The love she felt for them helped to soothe the lingering pain from the conflict with Alistair last night. Respect stared back, holding posture and listening to her speech. It assured that none had overheard what Alistair yelled.

"There are Grey Wardens among the enemy. They have been enchanted by the Elder One and believe fighting for him will prevent future Blights. These Wardens have undergone a ritual that has brainwashed them, and they believe there is a false Calling, suggesting another Blight. Do not touch these Wardens, or you risk experiencing the false Calling yourself!" She yelled and her voice resonated through the camp. "The ritual has also caused them to bond with Fade demons. We must destroy these demons first so we have a chance to save these Orlesian Grey Wardens."

Voices rustled, and a few boos resounded. Wardens looked to one another with confused skepticism. The few Orlesian Grey Wardens who had joined the Ferelden branch at Skyhold remained silent, shifting on their feet, and glancing at one another. Their uniforms, identical to the Fereldan's', maintained their anonymity.

"Quiet!" Caoilainn's hands clapped together, interrupting the chatter. Her voice rose. "These Wardens survived the same Joining and share the same Taint in their blood as you and I! As Grey Wardens we serve our order first, regardless of our country."

The gossip faded and the army's undivided attention returned to Caoilainn. She lowered her hands, her shoulders squared again as she explained the strategy to recover the Orlesian soldiers.

"We will depend on our mages to hold these Wardens while the rest of us slay the demons. Once the demons are gone, we will again depend on our mages to guide these Wardens from the corruption of the enemy. Our archers will defend them while providing support to those of us on the line."

Caoilainn smiled at the nods she received from her soldiers, pleased with their agreement and compliance with the designed strategy.

"Wardens, remember: we serve the Inquisition. Saving the Orlesian Wardens is another resource to defeat the enemy at large." She gazed around her, brimming with pride despite the deep sadness. "I trust you with my life. You have not let me down."

Her eyes met with Nathaniel, her First Lieutenant, the most reliable and consistent of her army. Held longer than a gaze among acquaintances, they lingered, speaking a wordless conversation of apology, understanding, and reassurance through neutral expressions.

Nathaniel bowed his head and saluted her with his fist to his chest. "To the Commander of the Grey, Mother of Griffons," he said; his low, scratchy voice loud enough to sound through the group.

The Warden next to him mimicked the action. In succession, each Warden crossed their arm over their chest, bowing to her and holding the pose. The wave of salutes carried through the circle. Each Warden stood showing their respect until she noticed tears burning her eyes. She rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, inhaled, and saluted back to them.

* * *

The Wardens completed breaking their camp, leaving most of their belongings, only taking their weapons and any necessities in their packs. They assumed their spot amongst the greater force, assembling with the Inquisition army. Inquisition banners raised, the march resumed. But now they moved faster, and with determination. The flowing collection of soldiers walked with heads held high, chests puffed with pride, ready to overwhelm Corypheus' army.

Commander Rutherford informed them the enemies would meet well outside the Temple while Alanna and her party stayed behind, waiting for the battle to begin.

Ruins appeared within the forest. Old water lines on pieces of crumbled stone architecture and broken down bridges hinted at the relic of a river that once was, reduced to a running stream gargling along the pebbled path the Inquisition took. Cautious, but vigilant, the Inquisition Commander climbed a section of an old bridge, peering down to monitor the march's progress.

By late in the morning they reached the outer edges of the Arbor Wilds and broke the march to make a row of supply camps. Siege weapons were positioned, and ballistas equipped as the troops readied to enter the ravine. Open land with few trees preceded the jungle before them. It was bright and humid. Sweaty soldiers took breaks between their tasks to drink from their waterskins and pour water down their necks, welcoming it to drip down their backs beneath their armor.

The sounds of an oncoming enemy militia, grunts and yells of men preparing for battle, could be discerned within the jungle. From where they stood, the soldiers observed the exotic wilderness that awaited. What had been tall trees of the Emerald Graves leaning to share sunlight amongst layers of green had transformed to colorful, misshaped timber with roots twisted and tangled around the rocks and soil on which they grew. Mushrooms of various tones emerged from the trunks between roots. Vines hung from the limbs, and ferns erupted from any free space. The path of pebbles they followed continued into the ravine and the increased humidity confirmed the larger river.

Having discussed the most strategic position for the Grey Wardens to take with Commander Rutherford, Caoilainn and her Wardens marched beyond the stationed army's other allies. She walked at the back of her troops and Nathaniel at the front. As she passed the Ferelden segment, she walked directly in front of Alistair atop his horse at the head of the Ferelden Royal Army. Dark circles evident under his eyes combined with his frown aged him and he weight on Caoilainn's chest grew heavier, now joined by a sharp sting as he ignored her. She marched onward, lifting her chin and straightening her posture as she followed the procession of Wardens.

The Wardens quieted and the air grew cooler as they entered the woods on the elevated land. Steps silent, they hiked, stepping over bulging tree roots, fallen trunks, and drooping tree limbs. Their pace maintained, steady, slow so as not to alert the enemy ahead in the ravine below them. From where the position above, the bright colors and strange shapes of exotic plants in the chasm looked more fitting for something seen underwater than above ground.

* * *

The Inquisition army and allies paced into the valley. With shade so strong and foliage so excessive, the woods seemed cavernous. They maneuvered through twists and turns, narrowing the march to file through tight necks of the path. Breaks in the shade, gaping holes in the tree canopy permitted the sunlight to blare down.

When the enemy came in sight, warriors on both sides beat their swords to their shields. The beating echoed off the walls of the gully, combined with clanks of armor, and boots upon earth and stone reverberated around them. Growls and barking from Corypheus' soldiers increased in volume and in the background water flowed; a river ran just beyond them, finally in sight. There was a waterfall nearby.

The collection of enemy forces now visible in the distance, stood like dogs snarling, waiting to be released from some invisible cage. Venatori, armored, helms blocking their faces and Red Templars in various stages of deformity- red lyrium spikes protruding from their hunchbacked bodies- held no particular order ahead. Furthest from the Inquisition, at the opposite end of the sea of enemies, stood a line of giants. Behemoth Red Templars who seemed to have completed their transformation. Finally, Orlesian Grey Warden mages held a line in front of the giants, guarded by their Fade demons.

"Halt!" Cullen yelled. The Inquisition stopped, leaving a significant gap between them and the enemy.

Time ticked by. Each soldier sweating from the heat, undertunics drenched. Hearts pounded, breath heavy, waiting for the call from their Commander to engage.

"Kill them!" A yell from Corypheus' side broke the silence. The sound ricocheted through the ravine, wider here than in other parts of the path to the Temple. The Venatori and Red Templar forces bolted toward the Inquisition.

"Charge!" Commander Rutherford hollered, and the Inquisition soldiers ran forth to meet their foes.

Walls met. Full force, fighters clashing against each other. The impact knocked soldiers from both sides onto their backs; the clank of weapons impaling and colliding clapped like thunder.

Alistair stood amongst it from his horse, his soldiers spreading out into the mess of fighting beyond him. Swings into the approaching enemies lopped off heads of Venatori. Blood spewed as bodies fell to the ground.

In the chaos weapons crashed; fighters ducked and blocked swings from the enemies, responding with their own perries. Shields bucked against bodies in effort to knock Corypheus' soldiers down by force. Archers from behind shot streams of arrows overhead into the enemy lines. Each time another volley of arrows loosed, the battlefield grew darker. Ballistas released spears into the enemy field. The panging noise of their shots made as if timed every few minutes.

Rogues slunk in shadows, assaulting Red Templars with stabs to the back, bringing the enemies to their knees. Blood ran thick, dampening the ground with pools and decorating the pebbled path with splashes of red. Bodies on the ground from both sides littered the walkway, tripping fighters from both sides on the crowded battlefield. Water tracked from the river mixed with blood caused the earth to cake on their legs. Kicked up as soldiers turned, pirouetting to dodge and strike back. The Orlesian Wardens remained planted before the behemoth Red Templars.

Watching, monitoring, picking off enemies who came too close, Alistair followed his responsibility as a king- not submerging himself too far within the mayhem. The Orlesian army on the side of the Inquisition, adorned with elaborate masks with identical faces formed a wall ahead, uniting their movements to pummel anyone who tried to break it. It gave him a moment to find Caoilainn.

Alistair spotted her and her army on the wall of the ravine, observing, planning. He had but a moment to study her before the wall of Orlesian soldiers before him broke, allowing enemies to flow in. Landing with a thud when his horse was knocked to the ground, he quickly rose and assumed a familiar position. His shield in one hand and his sword in the other, he let out a war cry. Enemies rushed to him and he swung, knocking them down, one after another. Some took more strikes to overpower than others. Blocking hits, and pushing back enemies, he continued this process. Mixtures of foes, armored Venatori and deformed Red Templars continued their attacks, assaulting with sword and shield. Alistair moved fast, bashing with his shield and stabbing enemies that were knocked to the ground. Never wasting a motion, he swung from one enemy to backswing into another. Some charged at him only to be taken down by passing Highever or Orlesian fighters.

* * *

The giants joined the commotion. Their red, stone-like bodies requiring the strength of more forces to destroy. They targeted members of the Inquisition force as some of the enemy retreated toward the river, having realized they were on the defense, outnumbered and overpowered by the Inquisition. The corrupted Grey Wardens, so few, followed the retreat, their demons right behind them. It was the perfect time. The Orlesian Wardens had gathered in a containable group. Caoilainn signaled to Philippa from the ravine wall to hold them. The Ferelden mage Wardens joined their strength, freezing the corrupted enemy from moving as the warriors reached them. Dual blade wielders, sword and shield, and some carrying two-handed weapons pursued, slipping into the ravine after the giants had passed.

Warden archers shot arrows into the gaggle of demons that charged toward the Ferelden Wardens. Occasionally enemies from the battle in the ravine made their way up the embankment toward the archers. With enough notice they isolated their shots, focusing on the one target to bring him down with little effort. Hale stood beside Nathaniel, her back to him with each shot.

Caoilainn fought alongside the Grey Wardens, putting in the same effort as her soldiers to efficiently destroy these demons. Arrows whirred by her head, landing in demons as she fought them. A glowing, orange rage demon slid toward her. The heat it emitted exaggerated by the humid afternoon. She thrust her sword into the monster, withdrawing only to follow with a stab of her dagger. The demon dissolved into the earth.

The Wardens took down a majority of the demons in a few minutes. Those that remained were of a higher power. Terror demons that flittered in and out of reality required more precision from the warriors. Tree-like and wispy, they disappeared and reappeared, confusing the Wardens. She signaled for them to spread out in groups, covering more space for this particular enemy. With patience and persistence, and a multitude of pelts from their blades, the demons faded.

Caoilainn looked up to Nathaniel and nodded to confirm their completion. With that as a cue, Nathaniel glanced to Philippa, who met his gaze. The other mages stood chanting their spell to hold the Orlesian Wardens.

She grinned, nodding her head and calling to the other mages. "It's time!"

A select number of mages formed a smaller circled, taking small daggers from their belts. Each of them slit their palms, allowing blood to ooze sufficiently before pressing their palms to the mage on each side. As a circle, hands pressed, palms bleeding to the ground beneath them, they chanted. Nathaniel's eyes darted to the corrupted Grey Wardens standing near Caoilainn, concerned at first, distrustful of this dark magic. But the Wardens awoke, shifting, looking around with furrowed brows as if they were unaware of their location.

Caoilainn approached them with caution, but called, "I've no time to explain! Come with me, brethren!"

Hot, sweating, breathless, her tunic beneath her tabard clung to her body. She hiked back up from the gully to the Warden position on the Wall. The Orlesian mages joined the other Wardens not practicing blood magic and added their strength to fight the enemies remaining in the valley. The enemy's slow retreat from the still plentiful Inquisition army continued; Inquisition forces and allies followed suit.

The battle below continued. Warden blood mages held their circle while the other Orlesian and Ferelden Grey Wardens sent spells into the valley. Archers continued their shots, directly supporting the Inquisition. Her warriors continued to rest, rehydrating, preparing to enter the larger battle

Caoilainn caught her breath and checked on the other warriors for wounds during their brief visit into the battlefield. She had acquired a few minor burns from the rage demon, but the pain was minimal. She ignored it to check on the status of the Inquisition, and more importantly Alistair.

It took a moment to find him, separated from his army, shield lost. He punched enemies, turned and stabbed at others. Swings back and slashes kept the growing number of enemies around him at bay. But he was surrounded, fighting back a circle of red Templars with one sword.

"The mages won't last!" Nathaniel called to Caoilainn, interrupting her as she surveyed Alistair. She looked to the mages for his reference.

The blood mages grew weak, periodic spells from the other mages to boost their mana were not enough. Their magic sputtered. The eyes of some of the Orlesian Wardens glazed and their staffs pointed to Caoilainn's soldiers. Caoilainn froze, uncertain of the effects.

Dividing attention between shooting into the battle and following the concern in Caoilainn's eyes, Nathaniel spotted the shift in the Orlesian Wardens' consciousness. It lasted a moment before they regained themselves and returned to the task at hand, shooting into the ravine. There was a sigh of relief from the Ferelden Wardens and they resumed their tasks.

Caoilainn looked back to Alistair. The battlefield had become sparse. Many of the Inquisition retreated to care for wounds. The rest spread out through the valley, fighting their targeted enemies and following those who retreated toward the river. The circle around Alistair was closing in on him. _You always were a magnet for enemies._

"Commander!" A cry resounded from behind her.

When she turned around, she witnessed the Orlesians returning to their corrupted states. Her blood mages had collectively fainted and the enemy Wardens now shot spells at her troop. She lunged toward them but stopped hard mid-step. Time slowed as she debated destroying these corrupted Wardens, apparently brainwashed beyond saving, or rushing to save Alistair.

"We have to kill them!" She yelled, pointing to the Orlesians as she cried out. The warriors rose and charged at the corrupted mages. The archers turned their arrows to the corrupted Orlesian enemies. The Ferelden Wardens outnumbered the Orlesian, but the mages were powerful. "Lieutenant Howe!" she called. "You're acting Commander!"

"Where are you going?" He asked before loosing an arrow.

"I trust you!" It was the only reply she offered before she headed into the ravine.

She ran at full speed, all fatigue she felt from her previous battle vanished as she raced into the valley. With all the force of her sprint, she sunk a backstab into a Red Templar encircling Alistair, who had fallen and now struggled to rise. The misshapen Templar turned around, and she quickly stabbed his belly before he could swing his sword. He fell to the ground where she stabbed once more for good measure.

* * *

"Keep them back!" Nathaniel called to the Wardens. The enemy mages found it advantageous to spread around them. Spells cast from staves in all directions, arrows loosened at the scattered enemy, and warriors spread out from the center to attack the foes. Hale and Nathaniel found themselves back to back, making efficient circles and reaching more enemies than if they stayed stationary.

Until an attack spell hit Hale, knocking the wind out of her. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath. The impact resonated through her body and burned her chest. Nathaniel made a swift turn on his heels, targeted and shot the mage that hit Hale, and then knelt down to her.

"Are you okay?" Nathaniel asked, concerned lines drawn across his face.

Hale coughed, struggling for breath as she looked to him. She nodded, deepening her inhales before spouting a volley of swear words.

"Sodding sons of bitches, mother fucking wankers!"

Then she released what Nathaniel could only assume was some gypsy Elven war cry. A long, loud tongue roll and an upward inflection; a sound similar to the one she made when she drummed. She rose to her feet, nocked and shot arrow after arrow. The shots found their targets.

* * *

They fought as a team, just like old times. Quickly returning to their familiar pattern once Alistair rose and collected weapons. He knocked men back with a shield he picked off a fallen ally and Caoilainn caught them off guard. Slitting throats, stabbing wherever she found a good place for her blades while Alistair engaged with the next target. The enemies fell and Alistair and Caoilainn had a moment to breathe.

"Why are you here?!" He yelled through the chaos. His voice muffled through his helm.

"I thought I'd save you- Alistair, son of Maric- from dying in Orlais!" She replied, her tone matching the level of his.

Alistair did not reply, but resumed fighting another onslaught of enemies. They honed in on him, as they always did, and he fought back with diligence, blocking shots with his shield, pushing back and following through with slashes. Caoilainn disappeared and for a moment; he assumed she went back to the Wardens. But then an oncoming Venatori charged from his side fell to the ground after Caoilainn lunged through his back with her long sword. Alistair saw her sword protrude through the Venatori's chest before she retracted it and the body dropped, leaving them facing each other. She smiled. _I love it when she does that._

Glancing back to the Wardens on the embankment, Caoilainn observed the ongoing battle. The corrupted mages were falling. Her faith in her army had not been for naught. Moisture on her brow collected. What she assumed to be sweat proved to be blood, her own, from a wound she received on her forehead.

She did not have time to consider the source before a unique Red Templar erupted from the crowd of the enemy toward the King. As if Alistair had offended the monster, it charged with malicious intent. Its arms red and pointed, disproportionate to the rest of its body; it ran faster than its peers. Alistair, preoccupied with the handful of enemies already attacking him, did not see the monstrosity coming from behind. _He won't have time,_ Caoilainn thought.

Time slowed again. The sounds of the battle disappeared as her ears filled with the beat of her thumping heart; her feet carried her without her effort.

Alistair knocked an enemy back with the hilt of his sword, swung and hit another before sweeping the one left near him away with his shield. He thrust the sword into the body that lie on the ground. Turning on his feet to face whatever was coming at him, he witnessed Caoilainn stepping in front of him to assault the grotesque Red Templar.

"No!" Alistair bellowed from behind Caoilainn.

Her blades were in position to wail at the disfigured foe, unlike anything she had fought before. But the Red Templar was quick. Like a shadow, he moved away from her blades and returned, stabbing his pointed arm through her. She felt it, stinging as it broke through her armor. It was deeper than any of the cuts she had taken so far in this battle. The arm piercing her chest made her gasp, shocked at the overwhelming pain, amplified as the Red Templar withdrew.

Nathaniel looked into the gully, the Ferelden Grey Wardens having slain all the corrupted Orlesians. His eyes landed on Caoilainn, standing with a strange looking monster's arm through her chest. "… Caoilainn…" he muttered to himself. Then he called to the Wardens. "Get to the ravine! This fight's not over."

Another wave of the Ferelden Army joined the battlefield having been healed and sent out as reinforcement. The combat raged around, Grey Wardens, Orlesian Army, Ferelden and Highever, many of whom pursued Corypheus army further into the ravine. Waning numbers of Red Templar and Venatori fought back.

Caoilainn screamed, a blood curdling roar that echoed through the ravine. Her face reflective of the rage she felt. She dropped a blade and took the hilt of her long dagger with both hands and drove it into the center of the chest of the enemy before her.

The enemy sank to the ground as her Grey Wardens came down to aid the battlefield. She took a moment, touching the blood that seeped from the wound. Her brows wrinkled, confusion combined with surprise and a general uncertainty with her predicament. She looked to Alistair with question.

He caught her as she fell and knelt to the ground.

"I'll get you a healer," Alistair offered. His expression unreadable, covered by his helm. She detected worry in his voice.

"No," Caoilainn rushed to reply before he set her down. Her words quivered with pain. "I'm so sorry… For everything. Don't leave me."

Alistair supported her body and removed his helmet. "Never again, my love." He gave a weak smile, tears welling. "Who would catch you when you fall on the battlefield?" The smile faded; he lifted his head and made an urgent yell to no one in particular. "I need a healer!" The war continued around them, sounds of metal on metal, grunts and groans of combat drowned out his voice.

"My King," she mumbled, her hand lifted to touch his face. Alistair leaned closer, and she hissed with pain as her body shifted.

"Oh no," Alistair shook his head. "No, no, no. Don't do that, my Queen. You will be fine. Just fine. All you need is a healer." He called out again. "I said I need a healer!"

Caoilainn lay prostrated in Alistair's arms in the center of the battlefield. Blood dripped down her face as she took short breaths in vain. The open wound stung, throbbing as blood oozed. Other smaller cuts clotted, tender and swollen, burns inflamed. She shivered from the cold that spread through her.

In a breath, images flashed in her mind:

 _Corridors in Castle Cousland._

 _Games of hide and seek with other kids._

 _Chasing_ _Fergus with his own toy sword._

Nathaniel.

 _Rebelling_ _as a teen, taking up arms, practicing in the field with the Highever men…._

 _Oren dead; her father dying. The look on her mother's face when she left her._

 _ **Alistair.**_

 _His_ _smile._ _Bad jokes._ The rose.

 _The first night they made love._

 ** _Overwhelming love_ **_._

 _Pain, bruises, injuries gathered fighting enemies to defeat the Blight._

Her friends, like family when she had none.

 _Slaying_ _the Archdemon._

 _Her wedding day._

 _The curves and texture of Alistair's_ hands.

 ** _Perfection._**

 _Becoming_ _Commander of the Grey._

Mother of Griffons.

 _Her Wardens, her children._

Then it was over. In the blink of an eye, everything of importance- everything that mattered, come and gone.

Alistair held tighter, copious tears streaming down his face mixing with sweat and dirt. He cried out for help again before staring down at Caoilainn. His brows furrowed, desperate. Hopeless. Head shaking, lips pursed, face red and contorted, he rocked her limp frame. Alistair's large, calloused, careful hand cradled her head, stroking her cool cheek with his thumb.

The final stages of the battle raged around them.

"No... no." His lips formed the words, "I love you." She couldn't hear him. But Alistair lived- holding her as she bled out on the battlefield. Reinforcements had arrived. Her mission was successful.

"Find a cure," Caoilainn mumbled, too weak to move. Her eyelids blinked slowly; pale, parched lips cracked as they moved. "I love you." She gasped, choking.

Darkness swallowed her. A last look, a final breath and Alistair knew. She was gone.


	24. Chapter 24: Victory

"Warden Commander…" voices mumbled. "The Queen…" Murmurs created a low lull through the gully. "Mother of Griffons."

As the war calmed, the final enemies picked off one by one up the remainder of the path to the Temple, people gathered around Alistair holding Caoilainn's slack body.

The quiet voices paid feeble homage to the King's suffering.

He shook, quaking with ragged inhales and sobbing exhales. "No…," he called weakly, squeaking. "Caoilainn…." Alistair's shaking cries of pain reverberated through the ravine, sharper, stabbing deeper than any blade.

Soldiers in blue and white gave the Warden salute; Ferelden soldiers lowered their heads in respect; Highever men wiped their eyes before resting their hands on their hearts. A harsh truth of the loss Ferelden just experienced rang through the calm surrounding the King's lamentation.

Whether to honor his sorrow or for lack of courage to interrupt, the soldiers left Alistair alone. Oblivious to the presence of people or lack thereof around him, and lost within his sadness, Alistair held on to Caoilainn as long as he could. The effort to commit to memory the way her body felt in his arms provided little solace. She was dead. Her body devoid of the bold and elegant spirit he recognized. Broken, irreparable, and missing something that could never be replaced, the gaping hole deep within his chest, permanently incomplete, longed for her to return. He felt small. Lost, like a little boy far away from home.

Unmoving, hunched over Caoilainn, sitting on the ravine floor, he stayed until the sun set. The heat of the day subsided.

 _Damn it,_ Nathaniel thought. No one deigned to approach Alistair, and the body would need to be moved before nightfall. Soldiers collected wood for a pyre to burn comrades lost in the battle. The numbers of the deceased climbed.

Nathaniel stepped near Alistair, hesitant, unsure how the man would hear his voice considering their last interaction. "We need to get her out of here. The Inquisition is building a pyre."

Alistair ignored him. Instead he stared off in the distance, holding on to Caoilainn. Eyes red and puffy, filled with an absent gaze; tired, numb.

An amalgam of emotions filled Nate, both contradicting and complementing the sorrow he bottled, and all of it more than he wanted to examine. At the moment, irritation with Alistair rested at the surface. Though the man suffered a great loss, his behavior was shortsighted and self-indulgent.

Nathaniel gestured to Val and Isenam, meeting their eyes and pointing to Caoilainn. "We need to take all the bodies to burn before night falls or we risk attracting scavengers or worse, demonic possession."

"No," Alistair's voice resounded. Decided and certain in his statement, his tone rang of bitterness. "She had to die in Orlais; she won't burn here too."

Nathaniel's hand met his brow, and he sighed. His patience with the King grew thin. "Her body won't make it back to Skyhold, let alone Ferelden," he explained, failing to hide his irritation, "your Majesty." He added the title in an attempt to show respect, but his annoyance remained audible.

Alistair's head turned to the man behind him. It took every effort to withhold the list of insults he had for Nathaniel; to refrain from setting Caoilainn down and throttling the neck of the Warden Lieutenant. Head hot, dizzy with rage, Alistair's words boiled. "She is the Queen of Ferelden. Born daughter of Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever and sister to the current Teyrn. She is…" He paused, realizing his words, "was Warden Commander to the Ferelden Grey Wardens. She will receive a proper funeral and it will be in Ferelden."

"But," Nathaniel interrupted, still unconvinced the King understood the irrational nature of his demand.

"I don't care if you have to beg the Inquisitor herself to escort her body. Make it happen."

Val, who had remained silent through this discussion, crossed his arms and glowered at the King. A deepened frown and pinched brows marked Isenam's disapproval; he took a challenging step toward Alistair and spoke up. "Grey Wardens don't serve-"

An outstretched arm stopped the Elf, Nathaniel intervened. "Not now," he said. "We'll do this for Caoilainn." Then he signaled for Wardens to take care of the body.

Grey Wardens gathered around Alistair to lift Caoilainn, moving her away from the battlefield and the rest of the casualties. Alistair let them; then he rose. Shadows cast across his face, exuding animosity as he walked toward Nathaniel.

"Yes. Do this for Caoilainn- my wife in case you forgot." Alistair looked down his nose and pointed his finger at Nathaniel, jaw locked, grinding as he scowled. "She is only Warden Commander or Queen to you. Get this done, Lieutenant Howe. And I never- Do you hear me? Never want to hear you speak her name again."

With unspoken defiance, Nathaniel glared back; brow creased, grimacing. Neither man shifted as they stared each other down. Sheer hatred passed through the silence, and even when Nate eventually nodded, his expression unchanged. Eyes narrowing, Alistair turned on his heels.

He made only a few steps before Nathaniel called, "She chose you, you know." Alistair froze mid-step but did not turn to face Nate. "For good."

A combination of distraught hopelessness, nausea and another rush of tears filled his mind. Alistair lowered his head for a moment, blinking. Tempted to sigh, to fall apart and allow grief to overtake him yet again; but he took a deep breath and marched onward. He didn't wish to give Nathaniel the opportunity to witness the impact of his words.

The puzzled glance of Isenam shifted from Alistair to Nathaniel, who ignored it and offered strategy instead. "Our mages should be rested enough. They can freeze her body on the way to Denerim. Don't look at me like that." Isenam's raised brow triggered a response from Nate. "It's low enough level magic; they can alternate."

"I'm less concerned for the mages than your standing with your King," Isenam replied, his faint Orlesian accent decorating his words. "What was that-"

"Stop," Nathaniel lifted his hand and looked at the ground. "It's nothing."

The Lieutenant's closeness with the Commander was common knowledge considering his status of the first new Wardens after the Blight. But his interaction with the King suggested more. Out of respect more than lack of concern or curiosity, Isenam nodded to Nate and gestured for Val to follow. The pair climbed up the embankment to the mages who were now conscious and recuperating.

The other losses of the Inquisition's battle were collected and burned on a pyre in a distant field. Bodies lay separate from one another. Stones divided them though they shared the same fire. Soldiers from all armies gathered to pay their respect, bowing their heads and quoting from the Chant of Light.

* * *

The armies traveled through the night, marching back to the larger forward camp before returning to Skyhold. Commander Rutherford ordered a band of Inquisition soldiers to remain, supporting the Inquisitor and her party who had made their way into the Temple during the battle.

Subdued and solemn, despite their victory, the march back seemed to take longer. Communication remained in hushed whispers though many came to give their condolences to the King. The animal that was the Grey Warden army moved with less unity than it had the other way. Wardens walked with blank stares, stunned by the reality of their loss. The mages proceeded around a covered wagon, emptied of armor and weapons, carrying Caoilainn's body. Magic cooled the body, effectively preserving her. Philippa took it upon herself to orchestrate their task, casting magic to keep away demonic spirits. Rather than taking Caoilainn's horse for himself, Nathaniel led the Grey Wardens by foot. When it was time to set up camp for the night, the Warden Commander tent remained packed.

Hale walked near him, keeping quiet company in deference to his silence. On the first night he welcomed her to his tent, she joined, worried for him, aware of the pain he was not addressing. It looked similar to what she experienced when she lost her father. But Nathaniel did not speak of Caoilainn's death. Intimacy replaced conversation, and satisfied needs lent immediate distraction. Afterward Nathaniel turned away from Hale; choosing isolation to escape her affection and the threat it presented to his well-guarded walls. Unsure how to respond, Hale left him alone. But on the third night she curved against his back, pressing her warm body to his. She wrapped her arm around his torso and clung to his chest. Without hesitation, Nathaniel's fingers laced with hers, holding her closer as he released a heavy sigh. Hale suspected the exhale spoke more than he would admit with words, but she chose not to push him. Caring in her own way, she stayed close from then on.

* * *

By the time the armies returned to Skyhold a few weeks later, most soldiers were conversing, testing at the idea of casual conversation even through the somber atmosphere. The gates of Skyhold opened that afternoon, allowing the leaders to enter. The larger groups stayed outside, setting up their tents for the night.

Shortly after their arrival, Leliana proceeded from the main hall to greet them. Her brow wrinkled, worry cast across her face. She met with Inquisition members, asked them questions. They all nodded back and her frown set further. When she finished checking in with them, she approached Alistair who had dismounted from his horse and was speaking with his advisors with his arms crossed, guarded, professional.

"I'm so sorry," Leliana muttered, her hand reaching toward his arm.

He flinched, forearm arm lifting on impulse; his fingers extended, rigid. A deep breath preceded his reply. "You know, I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to respond when people say that," Alistair replied, his gloomy, tired frown strengthened. His sarcastic humor morphed to cynicism. "'It's okay'? Because I'm- it's not. 'Thank you'? I'm not feeling very grateful at the moment. She's gone, Leliana and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"I know," Leliana replied, crossing her arms to protect against Alistair's vitriol. "I have sent ravens to Weisshaupt and Fergus on your behalf. When I received word of her death, I thought of the only way I knew to help."

"Right," Alistair looked away, brows creasing as if a headache was forming. "Fergus and Weisshaupt. Thanks Leliana." His detached expression, eyes distant, wandering off toward his room near the tavern illustrated the bland gratitude he offered. Thoughts of contacting Caoilainn's brother or the Grey Warden headquarters had not crossed his mind. It seemed Leliana assumed as much when she took it upon herself to send letters.

Without another word, he wandered to his room. The plans to return to Denerim after restocking supplies and resting had already been finalized with his advisors. Alistair had no other Kingly responsibilities to address and he desperately needed to be alone. He found the room and entered.

Their bed was still unmade. Water cold, the bucket he used to wash her the night before they departed still rested on the floor; the washcloth draped over the side. Air stagnant, heavy with silence, lingering with memories of their time together. Energy invested, thoughtful actions taken to rebuild their marriage filled every aspect of the room; there had been hope. And now there was none.

He inhaled; swirling emotions of anger, mourning, and aching desperation for Caoilainn's presence pulled at his mind. It weighed on him, urging him to sit before he collapsed. Slow deliberate steps through the debris of their memories -his memories now she was gone- and he sat on the bed. With his elbows resting on his knees, his hands lifted to his face, and he rubbed his eyes, attempting to collect himself.

Then he took a deep breath and fell back on the bed. Sore from the expedition, bruises from combat still present on his body, and especially drained from heartbreak, he needed to rest. Silk and lace textures brushed his fingers and his hand blindly searched for the source. He picked up the fabric and lifted it to his eyes. _The robe._ The gift he gave her on the day of their coronation cascaded from his hand.

The fabric crinkled in his fingers as he brought it down to his face. It still smelled of her. Clean sweat and leather. _She worked so hard._ Perfumed scents of honeysuckle and jasmine accented her commitment to duty with poise. Tears welled.

Emptiness shattered his pessimism. Unable to project his pain on anyone else, Alistair lost control. A long, lonely groan escaped him, and he heaved, sobbing into the robe. Fully clothed in armor, Alistair rolled onto his side; his knees curled in toward his chest, and he wept until he fell asleep.

* * *

No one, save for a few pages saw the King of Ferelden for the next few days. Alistair would stop a page in the hallway near his room to request a meal occasionally. He did not leave to speak to his advisors, nor did he call for water to bathe. Attendants could not enter to provide him with clean linens, nor would he answer to any of the visitors who called for him.

Until he heard a knock on the door and a familiar voice. "Alistair," the annunciation of his name disclaimed any question of the speaker. "Alistair, I want to speak with you."

"Go away, Morrigan," Alistair answered, not shifting from where he lay on the bed. The armor had been discarded on the floor; he now wore just his tunic and breeches.

"Alistair, I only need a few moments. You can continue wallowing in self-pity when we are done. I'm not arguing your right to grieve." The voice resonated from the hallway through the door. He sighed. Though her words were softer than he remembered her speaking, they retained her bitter bite.

Morrigan heard steps from within the room, and a moment later the door clicked open. He stood at the doorway, eyebrows raised waiting for her to explain her visit. Eyes bloodshot, dark circles beneath them, and wrinkles that suggested age far beyond Alistair's years. He was pallid, gaunt, and his hair disheveled.

"May I come in?" She inquired cautiously, attempting to see the state of his room from over his shoulder.

"What do you want?" He interrupted her gaze with his head, blocking her line of sight.

Morrigan lifted a brow, her impatience growing with Alistair's resistance enhanced by her caution of his present state. "I want you to meet someone." She shifted her body, and a boy peeked around her legs to see Alistair.

Alistair's eyes grew wide and darted from Morrigan to the boy and back again. "No, Morrigan. Now's definitely not the time. I'm not ready." He backed away from the door and attempted to shut it.

Morrigan put her hand up to stop the door from closing. "You're leaving tomorrow. 'Tis as good a time as any."

"Am I?" Genuinely confused, Alistair pondered out loud, glancing at the ceiling as he did so. "Ah, yes I am…. All right, fine. We'll talk." He sighed and stepped away from the door, allowing Morrigan and Kieran to follow him. "You know, I expected him to be more demonic. Tentacles… fiery breath and all that."

"He is a normal boy, Alistair," Morrigan clarified, impatience growing in her tone again. "And he can hear you."

"Your blood smells familiar," Kieran piped up, addressing Alistair, curiosity and wonderment filled his tone. "I can hear it."

"Oh boy," Alistair's eyes grew larger, and jumped to Morrigan for help. Morrigan did nothing more than smirk and shrug her shoulders. With a deep breath, Alistair looked back to Kieran and spoke. "Well, that's a personal problem of mine, you see? It's best not to talk of it. Right then?"

"You're funny… but very sad." A knowing grin tugged as Kieran shared his observation of Alistair before glancing at Morrigan. "You didn't tell me kings could be funny too, mother."

"Most aren't," Morrigan's smirk continued. "This one is an anomaly. All right little man, say goodbye to the funny king and return to your studies."

Kieran's brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped with exaggeration. He looked to his mother, frustrated as if his studies were a punishment. With a wave of her hand, Morrigan gestured for Kieran to follow through with her order.

Kieran rolled his eyes from his mother to Alistair. "Goodbye, funny king," he drawled sullenly and then marched from the room.

Dumbstruck, Alistair's eyes followed the young boy as he walked away until Morrigan's voice intruded his thoughts. "You are a good king, you know," she said as Alistair sat back down on the bed. Morrigan stood across from him near the door. "She knew that. Caoilainn didn't believe she was enough for you."

Forearms resting on his legs, his head shook. "Well she was wrong on all accounts. I must not be that good a king or she'd still be here. It's my fault, Morrigan. If I hadn't chased her here to Skyhold, if I hadn't been in that ravine, this wouldn't have happened."

"Of course," Morrigan agreed. "And by that logic, if the Warden mages held their strength, there wouldn't have been an impairment in defense while you were fighting. You wouldn't have been overwhelmed and she would have stayed with the Wardens."

"Morrigan," he groaned, rolling his eyes up at her.

"No, listen," she scolded. Her brows furrowed and she rested a hand on her hip. "'Tis a shame she is lost, but you chased her because you loved her. She ran from you to find a cure for the Calling because she loved you. The only reason she would not have searched for the cure is if she was never a Warden and had never met you, Alistair."

He sighed, tears stung at his eyes, glassy as they gazed in pain at Morrigan. The irrefutable truth in Morrigan's words hurt, firing up his anger with the unjustness of it all. "And what is it good for now? She's gone. She didn't find the cure."

"She is gone, 'tis true. But I bring what may be a hollow redemption for Caoilainn," She pulled a small, corked bottle from her pouch and set it on the counter near the sink basin. "Don't ask me what's in it, but I believe this will be the cure she sought. Now for you."

Alistair's brow creased and his eyes narrowed, following her hand to the bottle then back to Morrigan. His voice rose as he snapped at her. "Really? It was that easy? And you bring this to me now… after she's gone? This would've been helpful before she..."His unwillingness to say the word 'died' forced his tangent to a halt.

Morrigan remained cool, unchanged in the face of Alistair's lividity. "I found the information I needed for the cure in the Elven Temple."

"Keep it," he looked away, glowering with distrust. "I don't want your blood magic."

"Alistair," she made a request, her tone simultaneously nagging and pleading him to listen, "don't make that decision now." Permanent decisions made in states of emotional pain served no one.

"Fine," he gave a curt reply, sneering. "I'll decide not to drink it later, when you're not looking." His mind wandered, and his brows lifted in inquiry. Persistent cynicism faltered and for a moment genuine interest overtook him. "What did you mean by redemption?"

With a sigh, Morrigan explained. "She chose you, Alistair, over the Grey Wardens. Once and for all. 'Twas no simple task for the Warden Commander," Morrigan stopped to observe Alistair's reaction, and continued when he seemed to need more. "It seems she decided your life was more valuable to her than her own. And yet another reason for you to decide what to do with that bottle at a later time."

Alistair stared back, his gaze blank and brows furrowed, perplexed by her words. The door clicked behind Morrigan as she exited, leaving Alistair alone with his thoughts yet again. Turmoil of anger, now with Caoilainn, added to the grief. _That wasn't your decision to make, Caoilainn._ He stood and walked to the sink, lifted the bottle, ready to throw it on the ground. The warm glass of the tiny vial hummed against his skin. _But you made it._ Alistair stopped mid-motion. He went to set the bottle back down, but the sight of it reminded him what Caoilainn presumably died for. And as if the bottle stared at him, drilling a hole into him, he needed it out of his sight. Alistair tossed it into a bag of his personal items to deal with later.


	25. Chapter 25: Vigilance

"Alistair?" A female voice called from the entryway of the stable. "King Alistair?"

"What?" Alistair replied, displeased with yet another intruder to his sour disposition as he prepared to mount his horse. He did not turn to face the speaker. Placing one foot in the stirrup, his other leg readied to swing over the saddle.

"May I have a word?" She asked. The cadence flowed, emitting authority and decision through a thick Orlesian accent.

An audible harrumph preceded his turn, amused with her audacity to approach a king with such assertiveness. Alistair's pompous sneer joined a cocked brow and met the face of the woman. An Elf stared at him, short though older than he, dressed in mages robes. He recognized her. _Why is_ she _here?_

"Ah… Grand Enchanter Fiona, isn't it? Who gave Redcliffe to a Tevinter Magister? Who I expressly banished from Ferelden? Yes, right. How can I help you?" His gaze traveled back to his stirrup, and he lifted his foot. "Or not."

"Now it is only Fiona," the woman corrected. Her hands met as she stepped closer, wringing with unease as her brows bunched. "The Circle will find a new Grand Enchanter when it is reinstated."

Alistair glanced to Fiona and sighed. The sudden timidity of the woman who approached him contrasted his snide demeanor. It became a challenge to justify his spite. "Well, in the meantime I hope the Inquisition treats you well enough." He took the position to mount yet again, eager to abandon this already perplexing interaction.

 _He looks so much like his father._ Fiona stumbled to find words. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and reminded herself why she desired this conversation. It might be the last chance she'd ever have to speak with her son. "Forgive my forwardness, your Majesty," she voiced. "I know your wife sought a cure for the Calling."

Alistair stopped mid-motion, releasing the horn of his saddle and turning to face Fiona. His horse neighed at his indecision. A sneer morphed to a frown and Alistair's brows creased ever so slightly. He stepped toward her, towering over the small woman. "And what do you know of the Calling?" The intensity of his question loomed in the silence that followed.

"I…," she started. The speed at which she wrung her hands increased until she forced them down to her sides. "It doesn't matter. But I know the difficulty this presents to you and your grief."

"Do you?" He imposed, unable to believe anyone could understand him. Bitterness conflicted with the desperation. "Do you know what it's like to lose the person you care about most? To spend every moment hoping you're about to wake from a bad dream? Do tell, Fiona. How would you know that?"

Fiona stalled, cringing; her eyes misted, gazing at the giant man above her. With a slow breath she blinked to focus. "The Maker plays clever tricks, King Alistair. I know profound loss and the unfathomable sadness that accompanies."

Tears welled in Alistair's eyes. Through his stubbornness, his emotions visibly stirred. Fiona recognized the deep sadness in his gaze akin to her own, but it vanished to frustration and riled confusion. "What could you possibly know about profound loss?"

Long unspoken words failed to pass her lips; she had much more to say than her will granted. Her brows furrowed together, empathetic and sorry. "More than you could imagine, your Majesty. I came to speak with you before you departed because I know the difficulty of this decision. If you find a cure… do you choose to live longer with this sadness? Or do you follow the fate ordained by the Order and allow the Calling to take you?"

Alistair's jaw set, teeth clenched; he rubbed the building tears from his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. Dry laughter sounded as his hand brushed away and a sad grin pulled at his lips. "Hah, yes. I suppose I face quite the conundrum. Thanks for pointing that out."

She gave an apprehensive smile, soft and caring despite his unpleasant behavior. He took a moment to breathe. It seemed to calm him.

Through a low tone, almost a whisper, she gave guidance. "The sadness will worsen before you heal from it. But remember: you will heal. You have much left to gain and much left to give in this life."

The wisdom she offered echoed through the stable. He stared back, dumbfounded by the unconditional endearment.

She felt the upheaval of emotions; a unique kind of love far more complicated than what could be captured in words. _It's not the right time._ Pulling together her composure, Fiona continued, "Again forgive my forwardness." Her chin lifted and her posture straightened; confident gestures of her hands illustrated her speech, rolling along with her words. "Notwithstanding my banishment from your kingdom, should you find yourself in need of the consult of a former Grand Enchanter, I offer my services to you, King Alistair." Fiona bowed her head.

Brows creased with confusion before he nodded in return. "Um, sure…" he meandered. "I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Fiona, former Grand Enchanter." A feeble smile followed his gratitude.

Fiona bowed once again and left the bewildered Alistair alone in the stable.

* * *

Horses mounted, carts loaded, Ferelden and Grey Warden armies gathered to depart from Skyhold. Though they traveled together, the two armies separated naturally. Nathaniel, stepping in to lead the Wardens, and Alistair at the head of the Ferelden Royal Army, his advisors by his side. The Inquisitor, having returned from Skyhold a few days prior, approached the King of Ferelden first.

"Thank you for your service to the Inquisition," Alanna addressed Alistair, who sat atop his horse waiting to depart.

"Thank you for accepting our aid," he replied, diplomatic and rehearsed. A blank but tired expression met the eyes of the Inquisitor. "Pardon our early departure. Under other circumstances, we would stay to help."

"You need not apologize. You and your soldiers," she glanced to the armies from Ferelden gathered outside the gate, "have made a significant dent in Corypheus' military. We could not have done this without you." She chose her following words with painstaking care. "The sacrifice your kingdom has suffered will not be in vain."

Alistair's reserved gaze shifted to sorrow before his focus returned. He nodded to the Inquisitor.

Walking from one army to the other. The two men's obvious avoidance of each other forced a greater distance for the Inquisitor's walk. Alanna addressed Lieutenant Howe, and her cousin stood nearby. "And to you, Lieutenant," she bowed her head, "thank you for the support of the Grey Wardens."

The list of reasons the Grey Wardens would have been better off never stepping foot into Skyhold ran through Nate's mind. But he gave a tight-lipped smile and a simple bow. "Wardens serve where service is due," he mumbled.

The Inquisitor's eyes traveled to her cousin and upon landing she took the few steps to Hale. "Is it safe to assume we will not see you with the Lavellan Clan anytime soon?" Though spoken with love, Alanna's words did not hide the enmity the entire clan felt toward Hale's behavior.

"I'd say that's a safe bet," Hale replied with a grin, her devilish stare darting to Nathaniel.

"Shame," Alanna assessed, her soft gaze intensifying as she followed Hale's glance to Nathaniel. Suspicion merged with professionalism; she scanned the Warden Lieutenant presence.

The involuntary raise of his brow paired with the smirk pulling at the corner of his lip opposed his sullen attitude. _And? What are you going to do about it?_ Nathaniel mused what he desired to say in reply to Inquisitor Lavellan's accusatory glance.

Displeased, Alanna returned her gaze to Hale. Though she desired to scold her cousin, Alanna did not wish to have their last interaction end in harsh words. "My dear, sweet cousin. Please be safe. I miss you."

"Right, yeah. Miss you too, cousin," Hale dismissed the sentiment.

The Inquisitor finished bidding farewell to the Ferelden forces as they marched from Skyhold toward Ferelden.

Since it seemed more than the last month had consisted of marching, the armies had less vigor. Mountains morphed from cragged, icy peaks to bulky stone covered in lush forest. Snow melted, frigid temperatures mellowed to cold as the altitude lowered, the climate changing. The march, estimated to take weeks, proved more arduous than the other direction. Weather beat down the armies; snow and hail later replaced by wind and rain. Claps of thunder in the distance echoed the rumbling of synced steps.

Efforts to stay energized waned as the processional traveled through the northern side of Ferelden toward Denerim. A guarded cart carrying the deceased Queen tucked between the two armies. Mages continued alternating spells to preserve her and ward away spirits. Watchful eyes of both the King and Lieutenant Howe kept those with the charge of caring for the body alert to any potential dangers.

* * *

 _Her smile. Ashen-blonde locks cascading down her face, haplessly pulled back by her loose braid. Silvery-blue eyes that usually pierced right to his soul; now squinted, wrinkling with her toothy-grin. Sunlight cast down on her, highlighting her features and coaxing them to glow. Her head tilted back and in an instant- blessed Andraste- her mouth opened without her control and the most pleasant notes of laughter danced from her lips._

 _Bold and self-assured, Alistair grinned beholding the magnificent sight that was Caoilainn laughing. A bad joke, a witty remark, a silly sound effect following a clumsy step; the source didn't matter. It took little time to learn upon meeting the anxious woman of her proneness to uncontrollable fits of giggles at his expense. Proudly, he gained some level of mastery over the craft through the years of their marriage in between her sadness, and despite her secrets. Often lost in her head with worrying and planning, his consistent victory at entertaining her never ceased to astound Alistair. As though he enthralled her; for those fleeting moments when he had her laughing, nothing else existed. The world around them melted: the Blight gone, their pasts erased, responsibilities obsolete. His ego stroked with each note; pride compounded by much needed giggles._

* * *

 _"I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages," he admitted the night before they left Skyhold._ The closest he had ever come to confessing the power her laughter gave him. A cruel jest: being deprived the sustenance of the sight and sound of her reckless abandon for the last five years, then given a small taste, only to have it ripped away forever.

Alistair's horse trotted along, marching with the rest of the Ferelden army. Thoughts of Caoilainn, images of their last few moments together flashed in his mind, and as bittersweet reprieve more pleasant memories sprang forth. Boundless love that flourished in the darkest circumstances and prevailed through unlikely odds. Dashes of arguments, long held resentments few and far between, followed only by angered thoughts remorsing the lack of clear resolution. Cycling over and over until his eyes blurred, dry until the sting of tears brought his awareness back to the present.

 _"Don't leave me," she whispered._ The words replayed piercing his chest each time. _I'm still here, Caoilainn. Come back to me. "Yes, my King."_ Memories of sweet murmurs whispered in his ear, the lovely sound of her response to his command. Unmitigated love denounced any shame for recalling wanton interaction. Instead, it exacerbated his longing. Short-lived nostalgia, interrupted by his heavy heart building pressure each time he returned to reality.

Advisors came to speak with him. Blank nods, and short answers satisfied their expectations, or they stopped trying. Either way, they allowed him to return to his thoughts.

The wheels of the cart near him turning endlessly, horse hooves clopping, and soldiers marching created a blaring hum infiltrating his reverie. Repetitive, unwelcome noises disturbed his sad solitude and reminded him of the harsh truth. On occasion, Alistair's concerned gaze traveled from the cart to the Warden Lieutenant on the other side. He often found the man studying Caoilainn's cart with equal intensity. Enraged, but without the ability to demand otherwise with tact, he stored his reactions and prepared to take any opportunity to make the man's life miserable, given the chance.

Reluctant to admit the anger Alistair felt toward the Lieutenant accounted for both Caoilainn's and Nathaniel's part in the affair, Alistair harbored wrath. As Caoilainn could no longer take responsibility, the burden fell to Howe. A history of bad blood now magnified by the ten years Alistair spent making presumptions of their tawdry activities.

Days carried into nights and the same repetition of thoughts filtered through until he found some semblance of sleep, only to wake and repeat the next day of the march.

Her smile. The recalled sound and image of Caoilainn's laugh provided empty respite.


	26. Chapter 26: Youth

_"No, that's not enough. I'll need Wardens, fighters, on both sides of this tunnel. The scouts will survey and offer support," Caoilainn strategized a mission with her band of lieutenants at the table in her office, layered with maps and letters from Ansberg requesting aid eliminating an increase in darkspawn._

 _"Of course," Nathaniel replied. "And I'll give you_ _the full, undoubtedly long account of this mission on your desk when I return." The most senior in rank of the lieutenants, he acted as mouthpiece for the rest. His words dragged as though annoyed with the obligation._

 _Seneschal Garevel's eyes squinted between the two of them, noticing the Lieutenant's unusual choice of words. He stood, taking notes while Caoilainn gave orders to the lieutenants leading smaller troops into the Deep Roads, north in the Free Marches._

 _Caoilainn's reply: the tempered raise of her brow and a smug frown. "I expect extensive detail, Lieutenant Howe. Nothing less," she extended the requirements of his offer. No one but Nathaniel noticed the sultry glint in her eye. Hooked by the appeal of clever use of composure, he valued her unrelenting discipline._

 _"Yes, ma'am," Nathaniel's gruff reply joined a cocky smirk before he sauntered from her office._

 _The method of their amour tangled with their duties, masked behind their roles as Commander and Lieutenant. It worked too well; both beguiled by the illusion of convenience and escape from responsibility._

* * *

As the weather cleared, Nathaniel convened with other Warden Lieutenants to devise a plan to split near Vigil's Keep. The Warden's mages and a select few others, including the scouting band, would continue to Denerim to see away Caoilainn's remains.

The complicated turmoil Nate endured grew as they continued through Ferelden. Diving into work in an effort to shut down the mess within, he lost himself. Numb to sadness and upset, unable to rationalize those emotions considering the task at hand, he marched onward. Though each time his eyes fell on the cart carrying Caoilainn, the pit in his stomach sank deeper.

After the amusing interaction with Hale's cousin, Nathaniel returned to his previous state. Reticent and withdrawn, humor locked behind austerity. He gave rigid directions to various Wardens, Hale included, and accepted no deviations.

The young woman's presence tapered, and he didn't blame her. Intimacy dwindled as distance grew larger. It seemed the further into Ferelden the Grey Wardens traveled, the more Nathaniel forgot about his penchant for Hale, preoccupied with duties as acting commander. Aware of his inability to offer decent company, the distraction of sex no longer justified inviting her to his tent. The spirit of the huntress imposed upon his dissociation. She required connection, taxing his energy when he lacked it.

Allured by the ease at which he could throw himself into work and ignore the huntress, Nathaniel did not pursue her, unconcerned with her return to Damia. Though he admitted he missed Hale's quiet support when she walked nearby, and her warmth in his bed, he insisted his failure at reciprocating companionship proved his inadequacy. He committed to the belief he must bear this burden on his own and instead took in other bedmates who stirred less emotion. Female Wardens, longtime friends he could call upon to keep him company and help him forget about Caoilainn; Hale too for that matter.

But resilient and resourceful, Hale found company with the friends she made on the scouting mission. A new experience for her, having 'friends' who seemed to enjoy her presence regardless of the dreary atmosphere.

Campfires littered the larger encampment of the Ferelden soldiers and Grey Wardens each night. And each evening, Hale joined the scouts fireside. Relaxed card games, storytelling, and subdued festivities aided by alcohol, the group made the most of their depleted states. Many retired early, still mourning the death of the Warden Commander. Tent hopping games between Hale and Damia also resumed.

In one late night conversation, Damia inquired about Nathaniel then informed of a rumor she heard of the Lieutenant's new bedfellows. Hale's puzzled feelings about Nathaniel's reserved behavior racked her mind, but she had thus far abstained from confirming an unprofessional relationship with the Lieutenant. Hope that Nathaniel would talk when he was ready and assuming he needed space led to her distance. This news knocked the wind out of her.

Face hot, heart racing, she slunk through the camp on light feet. Quiet steps bought her to Nathaniel's tent, half expecting to find someone else in it.

The lone flicker of his candle revealed Nathaniel's wakefulness to any passerby. He stared at a paper, folded and sealed, the Grey Warden crest pressed into the wax. The Inquisition's Spymaster had brought it to him the morning they left Skyhold, and it since stayed unopened, neatly tucked in the breast of his armor.

"Lieutenant?" A familiar voice called a loaded question in a rigid tone from outside his tent flap.

He blinked. The sound of her voice pleased him in spite of his internal tumult. He hid the paper under his pillow before he spoke. "Come in, huntress."

Hale entered what she now recognized as a familiar location. A well-ordered room made of his belongings and bedroll. He sat on the bed and glanced up to her as she entered.

"What do you want, Hale?" Nathaniel asked, tired but patient. The small crease in his brow distinguished sunken eyes.

Heated responses to Nate's question raced through Hale's mind. Arms crossed and hip cocked, she glanced to the roof of his tent, searching for the right words. Nate looked to her, forehead wrinkled, unsure of the delay in the answer to his simple question. With willed restraint of ire she gave a hopeless shrug and blurted out a response, "I need you to fucking talk to me."

Nate snorted, his eyes looking side to side, assessing that he was in the same tent as Hale. "That's what we're doing now, isn't it?"

"No, I want you to tell me what your sodding problem is." Stubborn and determined, Hale's chin jutted with virulence. "Where've you been since Skyhold?"

Demanding him to open up, her pleading and angry interrogation caused his eyes to roll. "I've been busy, Hale." He evaded the question with a vague response.

"Yeah?" She asked with a defiant step closer. "You mean fucking other Wardens?"

He scoffed, a smirking sneer joined another passive eye roll as he shook his head. "Go back to your tent, Hale. I'm not having this discussion with you."

"No!" She yelled, frustration winning over discretion. "I've waited... Bollocks! Fucking weeks for you to talk to me!"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed as her voice raised, sneer tightening until she finished talking. _I knew this would happen._ "Andraste's tits, Hale. This is why I didn't want to sleep with you." He stopped to breathe, then made a stopping motion with his hand from where he sat. "No. I'm not having this conversation. Go back to your tent."

"Fuck that!" She exclaimed, "I don't give two shites if you plough other women. But don't fucking ignore me like I'm just some cheap fucking whore."

"Damn it. This has nothing to do with you!" Reserve abandoned, he bellowed at her. Pale cheeks tinged red, and harsh eyes locked.

A vitriolic glare peered down at Nathaniel. Teeth bared, her weight shifted to one leg. Nostrils flaring, her chest swelled with rage, fists clenching and releasing as her emotion boiled. But her keen eyes caught on the paper beneath his pillow.

A swift motion and she bent her knees, swiping the letter from where it lay. Nate's gruff voice, low and stern called as he reached after her. "Stop. Leave it alone."

"It's unopened." She observed aloud, pulling the paper out of his reach; her attention focused on the contents in her hand. Nathaniel quickly rose to his knees and stood. Touching the crest on the seal, she concluded, "This is from Weisshaupt, or whatever it's called, innit?"

He nodded, brows creased, lips pulled to a frown. "Give that to me," he grumbled. Each time he reached for the letter, Hale's swift movement dodged him. Standing over her, he could have overpowered Hale, but his agitation with the huntress stopped him. He didn't want to touch her, knowing where physical contact took their heated debates.

"This what's been bothering you?" Critical eyes judged him, attempting to decipher his resistance to the letter, and its connection to his bad mood.

"Among other things," he muttered. "Like you, right now, for instance. Warden, if you don't give me that letter…." Grouchy and sullen, Nathaniel's shadowed beady stare waited for Hale to falter.

"Fucking arsehole," she rolled her eyes and scoffed in disgust. "You don't have to do this shite alone, Nate. But you bloody-well have to do it."

Unsure what angered him more, the accuracy of Hale's statement or her calling upon him to read the letter he had been delaying. He ground his teeth in thought. The letter could only contain a few possible messages, none of which he wished to read. But Hale's caring nature confronted his desire to be alone and avoid the confirmation of Caoilainn's death.

She piped up, breaking the silence. "I'd read it to you, but… ya know, I can't."

Releasing an annoyed, defeated sigh the pressure of her presence brought him to decision. "We'll change that when we get back to Vigil's Keep. In the meantime…." Nathaniel's grumpy snarl preceded the opening of an extended palm, a silent order for Hale to give back the letter; she obliged.

Silence penetrated the tent as Nate broke the seal and opened the letter. His eyes traveled left to right, reading the script to himself. Lines drawn on his face increased in severity, growing darker, deeper. Wrinkles pronounced by his displeasure showed his age. The dim light of the candle flickered on his face as he read.

"They've made me Warden Commander," he mumbled, re-reading the contents of the paper again. His severe expression unaltered.

"Fuck," Hale murmured. The impact of the news left her short of words until unfiltered she thought aloud. "You don't look surprised… or happy. That's a big fucking deal."

"Surprised? No," he answered, distracted, briefly glancing up from the paper as he re-read a third time. "I knew it would say it was me or someone else. The Warden-Constable declined, so it's fallen to me. He likes his position at Vigil's Keep. Less field work."

"But happy. Right, mate? You got promoted." She attempted a weak smile, knowing the unpleasant circumstances of his elevation.

"Happy?" He scoffed, scowling. "I've served Caoilainn since she became Warden Commander. I respected her. I've no right to this." He waved the paper before tossing it to his bed.

Hale retorted, her hands on her hips. "Says who? That makes you the best wanker for the fucking job, don't it?"

"Yeah. You and the First Warden seem to think so," he snapped, curt and insulting with his expression and tone. Biting, cold and aloof, he checked her reaction with testing curiosity as he explained, "I was sleeping with Caoilainn off and on from the beginning. It's wrong for me to succeed her."

"I don't follow," Hale shrugged her answer. "So you ploughed her? Does it mean you can't do the job? Wouldn't she want you to do it more than this lazy Constable whoreson?"

Replies conveyed understanding of his statements but gave no validation. Troubles lay deeper than what he said in words, and what he admitted to himself. Hale's questions pushed the barriers surrounding the emotions he ignored. Guilt, he realized, for the relationship with Caoilainn. "I was an ass," he grumbled out loud, absent-minded, forgetting his audience. "She was so young when it started. I shouldn't have put her in that position."

"Oy," Hale barked, intruding his reflection, "fuck off! I'm younger than she was then and you're older now. You saying I'm some helpless little girl? You just some sick fuck?"

 _Shit._ Nate compared his relationship with Caoilainn to his relationship with Hale and found more similarities than he preferred. The Elf's age had been a significant component his hesitation to engage with her in the first place.

"No," he growled, lip curled in disgust of her immaturity. His answer short, absent of a better response to her complaint. Furious, compounded regret built as Hale's tantrum escalated.

"Then is it because she's human?" She resumed; an insolent glare his only reply to her questions. "Commander? Or noble? Oh! That's it. It was because she was the fucking Queen, isn't it?"

Grinding teeth of his clenched jaw caused the muscles on his face to pulse. The barrage of questions that spit from Hale's mouth hit him in rapid succession like weapons. Steamy tears welled, stinging in hot pools. Rage, face hot with fury at his own mistakes joined the pain surrounding the loss of his closest friend.

"Get out, Hale," he growled, stepping closer. His arm rose, rigid, index finger extended. He pointed to the exit of his tent.

He missed Caoilainn, he realized.

 _I can't mourn for her_. _I've no right to grieve._ Surmounted shame, guilt for the affair, the circumstances of their friendship, and an exponential list of illicit interactions forbade him from revealing his sadness to anyone. Questions of his part in Caoilainn's reluctance to remain in Denerim crossed his mind. Adding his elevation to her position as Commander of the Grey, forced to work with the King of Ferelden in matters regarding the safety of his Kingdom would be remarkably ungracious, unrefined. _Father would be so proud._ Worse, the turmoil and misery led him to push away the care and concern of this lovely, albeit caustic creature.

Red cheeks and a pained glare stared at Nate. Fists squeezed tight, her chest heaved, and tears fell. An angry pout found her lips, and her creased brows lifted for a moment. Begging, urging him to talk with nothing but her gaze.

Silence followed, his hand stayed pointing toward the tent-flap. Hale turned on her heels and stormed out, wiping her tears as she fled.

* * *

**Please! I'd love to know what you think of these two in the reviews.**


	27. Chapter 27: In Peace

A calm morning on a flat cliff near the ocean well outside of Denerim, the grieving gathered. The Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, arrived in the city a few nights before. Teagan, the Arl of Redcliffe, had received word from Fergus and arrived the prior evening. They stood on either side of the King in quiet contemplation; saddened faces hardened with intense stares and restrained discomposure, their lips pulled in tight frowns. A small group of Wardens stood behind them in a wider line. Fists rested on chests, maintaining professionalism though many broke the salute to dry their eyes.

The sad ring of cathedral bells echoed from Denerim for a funeral service provided in the city for mourning citizens.

A chilled sea breeze of the Waking Sea came in frequent gusts making the warmth of the sun a precious commodity.

Stacked tree limbs and logs supported a makeshift shrine. Garlands and wreaths gilded wood with flowers in house colors: varying shades of blue, green, red, and yellow embellished by petals and vines. The laurel, mabari, and griffon displayed on heraldic banners draped from the pyre.

Enchanted, made to look pristine in her final state, Caoilainn lay atop the wood altar, resting on a flowery bed. Fair skin contrasted deep blue; adorned in a snug gown, gold trim lined the collar and sleeves. White ribbon laced up the front. The griffon and chalice embroidered on the breast, creating a badge. A floral crown denoted her status as Queen.

Looking up to his sister's final resting place, Fergus' teary glare shifted from sorrow to frustration, to disbelief. The emotions cycled as he observed the altar until he took his turn to climb the steps and give homage. She laid, peaceful, serene on the pyre; cheeks glowed as if she were alive. Fergus rested a flower on her stomach and placed an object beside her. An old doll of Caoilainn's, found locked away with undisturbed belongings in Castle Cousland, never intended to be seen again. The doll wore a blue dress, the laurel sigil stitched in green.

Teagan joined Caoilainn's brother, stuck in viewing Caoilainn's remains, frozen in the sight of his last living relative, now gone. Condolences offered with the company at the altar, Teagan paid his respects with a flower. Suggesting not to linger, he gave a silent squeeze to Fergus' shoulder and two stepped down.

The King walked forward; alone, climbing the stairs of the altar to face Caoilainn for the last time. Keepsakes seemed fruitless, offering a meager memento for selfish reasons. _Don't forget about me._ But under all the pain, anger, and at the bottom of the deepest sorrow he had never fathomed, he wanted her to know one thing. _I will always love you._ It was too easy; a message so simple couldn't capture the complicated nature of their relationship. Nor could it validate the storming emotions he now experienced in folds, disagreeing with each other and leaving him in consternation. So he placed two things with Caoilainn: one to communicate his love and the other to honor his pain.

For her: a rose. The hallowed flower, velvety petals bloomed to entice, inviting eyes to appreciate and envy its absolute beauty. In spite of darkness, the plant retained its utter eloquence. _"I think the same thing when I look at you."_ The love he gave, both wise and youthful in nature, sometimes naive and idealistic, had matured with time. Self-taught, learned with years spent by her side and through their distance. His love would always be boundless and eternal.

For him: a letter. Words compiled on parchment, script scrolled down the page. Rolled, tied with a ribbon, and sealed with the Theirin crest. There wasn't enough room on all the parchment across Thedas to capture what he wanted to tell her. But consolidating thoughts to a page, the letter did justice. It was enough. He slipped it under her curved palm. Tucked neatly, close to her chest.

He stroked her hair a final time before his hand brushed her cheek. The coldness of her skin contradicted the glow the mages gave her. Alistair struggled to keep his shoulders straight. Urged to collapse and sob, despite his audience, to pray to Andraste to bring Caoilainn back. It gnawed at his mind and forced his already heavy heart to sink deeper. He was anchored but pulled in too many directions by conflicting emotions complicated by his company and limitations of time.

 _Goodbye Caoilainn, my Queen._ He closed his eyes but it didn't help. A quick exhale met a silent sob, his lips stretched down to a wordless cry. A slow turn of his head said 'no' to this moment while shoulders shook. Then a deep breath, and another. He looked away. Eyes locked downward, he descended the stairs away from her. His fingers to his eyes applied pressure to stay tears without success. Alistair returned to his place between Teagan and Fergus and nodded to no one in particular. Teagan lent a supportive hand to Alistair's back.

Archers lit their arrow from both ends of the Warden line. Nathaniel among them, his blue and white fletcher decorated the end, chosen with purpose for her. Arrows loosed, and Nate sent his with the love he never expressed to Caoilainn. Love as a friend, his closest in fact, despite his sister Delilah; he cared for Caoilainn unlike anyone else in his life. Also, an apology aimed with his arrow. For his reckless, prideful, and foolhardy libido causing crossed boundaries and shared misdeeds, and for his part in whatever harm resulted from amorous games.

Hale's curious eyes studied Nate's reverie after she loosed her arrow.

The flames ignited on impact. Fire quickly spread across the wood, the pyre ablaze with a roar. The body vanished from view as the bonfire grew, reaching up into the clear sky at the cliffside. Smoke climbed from the flames, creeping its way beyond the tall flicker into the open blue and cloudless skyline. It could be seen from the city, and well beyond.

The attendees stood in reverence of the blaring pyre. The sun traveled across the skyline; late morning made way for afternoon. One by one guests stepped away, following a quiet trail back to Denerim. The Wardens left first, Nate the last among them. Teagan and Fergus gave Alistair mumbles of condolence and shared pain before departing. _'It will be okay.'_

They left Alistair the last standing at the pyre. Evening crept in and the fire weakened. The chill became cold, and waves crashed louder as the roar of the fire ebbed.

Tears spent and mind filled with contemplation, alone, he walked back to the palace. Joining Teagan and Fergus, they all shared a meal and shots of whiskey. A tradition passed from the Mac Einrag's, the maiden family of Fergus' mother, they drank toasts to honor Caoilainn. In spite of sadness, they found laughter as Fergus told fond tales of Caoilainn's childhood antics.

But humor didn't linger when Alistair's guests left. As though the work spent adjusting when Caoilainn ran away was for naught, he started over. And it was harder this time, when reminders of the ultimate failure of his persistent love found him. _She's never coming back._

Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and months to a year. Alistair met life without Caoilainn without grace. Often, locked in his room when despair returned in full force. Forlorn bouts worsened by alcohol traded with periods of stability. But he managed as King, fulfilling and delegating responsibilities when needed.

Tense communications continued with Warden Commander Howe, and arguments erupted whenever the two men spoke about procedure. But as an independent body, not ruled by the King of Ferelden, Alistair had little say in what Howe did with his army. Their rivalry never diminished; animosity towards each other a vice of both men gripped with unrelenting obstinance. Alistair had no reason to visit the Grey Warden base and Howe made a point to avoid Denerim. When the need of a Warden in the capital occurred, Howe sent only his most obnoxious Lieutenant: the fiery Elf girl.

Rumors spread the son of Maric might banish the Grey Wardens as the clash between the Warden Commander and King became well known. The blame fell to Howe's family history, regardless of the warmth Nathaniel received in Amaranthine. But as one of the last Wardens before Caoilainn resurrected the Order, compiled with her well-known love for the Grey, Alistair tolerated Nate as Commander, at least for the time being.

The bags from the mission to Orlais were left packed for years until Alistair gained the courage to open them. Untouched belongings, time frozen since the quest to Orlais shattered one bag at a time as he unpacked memories. The armor, what he wore the day she died; the clothes touched her body when she took her last breath. Her belongings, Grey Warden tabards, her hair brush, the robe among other things retained her essence. Faint reminders of her scent lingered despite years packed away. Tears returned, the pain real yet again.

Through unpacking of bags, he found the pack of his personal items from his room at Skyhold: a comb, a container of the wax and oil product he used in his hair, and a few shirts. At the bottom, he found a tiny vial.

 _"Yet another reason for you to decide what to do with that bottle at a later time."_

Morrigan's words echoed in his mind. The bottle, a supposed cure for the Calling. Thoughts of his fate, his sacrifice as a former Grey Warden furthest from his attention now returned.

To his dismay, his history as a Warden and his part in ending the fifth Blight seemed insignificant to his duties as King. And now he faced the small vial, the supposed cure to the Taint, and his conversation with Morrigan resurfaced.

 _"You're a good king, you know. She knew that…. This will be the cure she sought. Now for you."_

Though Morrigan did not confirm the ingredients of the potion, his assumptions weighed heavily on his decision. Long held beliefs and first-hand experience of the risks of blood magic gave him pause. A price always had to be paid. Like the Joining, swallowed darkspawn blood and magic created a lifelong commitment to the Grey. Shortened lifespans and the Calling were payment for the ability to bond to other Wardens and sense darkspawn.

Morrigan had advised of redemption and responsibility. Caoilainn had pursued her mission with tenacity and unapologetic self-interest, for them.

 _"Find a cure... . I love you."_ Caoilainn's last words played through his mind.

* * *

 _"Find a cure… I love you."_

"Healer!" Someone yelled through the commotion

The Inquisition soldiers escorted a mage to Alistair, and the waning chatter of the battlefield returned around him. Limp in his arms, eyes closed, Caoilainn did not breathe. Regret for his anger the night prior faced the genuine potential for her death. Vivid and guilt fueled images, provoked as preparation for grief flashed before him, creating all too lucid nightmares. Now the visions reversed: the lonely cure faded, the way she looked on the pyre, the march back to Denerim, and his conversation with Morrigan and the young boy, back to where he knelt on the battlefield. Emerging from his anxiety, he faced reality: Caoilainn and the possibility for her life.

Seconds felt like hours, like days, like years each moment she failed to breathe.

Ushered in by soldiers, the Grand Enchanter wrung her hands, speeding through fallen bodies and the mass surrounding the King and Queen.

"My apologies. I was healing the wounded at the supply camp. It kept me from the battlefield." Fiona's remorseful waking-dream washed away; the idea of sharing her grief with Alistair nothing but a sad and shame-filled fantasy. A meager hope she might comfort her son, giving what little she knew of motherly love; and perhaps, an inkling of her words lingered when this dream version of her son sensed their connection.

Fiona feared she was too late to save his wife. "How is she?" She couldn't meet Alistair's eyes.

"I don't know. She's not- she's not breathing." Alistair gave a trembling whine, stammering. Face shining, soaked from tears and sweat, he glanced to Fiona with bulging eyes, urging her. "You have to do something." Blood soaked from Caoilainn's chest, drenching Alistair's arm. Caoilainn's hand in his.

Fiona gave a silent nod. _I'll try_. She kept her doubtful thought to herself and passed potions to soldiers, giving quick directions while she charged a spell.

"Where did you go, Lieutenant?" Hale jogged up behind Nathaniel, who had frozen in his tracks. Dismayed, his hands rested on his head. The fearful furrow of his brow created worry lines prominent through the wrinkles on his face.

The guilt-ridden trance flashed before Nate and dissipated, replaced by chaos. Caoilainn, the threat of her death, an absolute end far too feasible. Bug-eyed, frantic, he ran toward her, attempting to see through the mass of people surrounding. "I need to see her! Is she okay?"

"Keep him out!" Alistair growled as he rocked Caoilainn's frame. Glaring at the direction he heard the voice. The King's Guard closed the circle, keeping Nathaniel from viewing.

"Fuck's sake, Lieutenant," Hale rushed to catch up with Nate, catching her breath. "She'll be fine."

"Hale, no," he turned toward her. His expression more emotional, pained than she had ever witnessed of him. "I saw it… her death. I was made Commander. And I was a miserable asshole to you."

"Uh-huh," Hale rolled her eyes and patted his back. "Right yeah, you're starkers. You'd be bleeding from the lip if you're an arse to me. And a little soon to be raving mad about a promotion now, aren't ya? Calm down, mate. She ain't dead yet."

Nate's head turned, attempting to shake the frightened delusion from his mind as he waited for any news about the Warden Commander.

Fiona closed her eyes, her hands resting on Caoilainn's chest. She called upon the Fade and applied a spell. Blue, healing light sent from her hands and throughout Caoilainn.

While she worked, distressed words spilled from Alistair's mouth. "I was sure I lost her." He looked down to Caoilainn, "I played it all out. Scenarios and what would happen. It wasn't pleasant at all. I was a very sad king," he shook his head in recollection. "Maker, it was so horribly real."

With an exhale, Fiona finished her spell. The woman checked for Caoilainn's breath; her ear hovering over Caoilainn's mouth. Sighing again, Fiona shook her head and replied through a distracted mumble. "The Maker plays clever tricks, King Alistair." Another spell recharged. "Clever tricks, indeed." The mage's hands hovered over Caoilainn's wound; this time, green light emitted casting healing mana into Caoilainn's body.

Breath held in anticipation, eyes fixated on Caoilainn. Observing her, watching her body for any signs of change. Alistair gripped her tighter, brushing back her damp hair from the clotting wound on her forehead. Blinking often to moisten dry eyes, he feared he might miss something in the split second his lids closed.

One moment it seemed as though Caoilainn was gone, and then she was not.

Her hand flinched against Alistair's, clutching his palm with force; she gasped as her eyes opened.

The Mother of Griffons lived.


	28. Chapter 28: Bond of the Grey

Just in case you didn't see it, here is a link to the continuation of this story:

Bond of the Grey


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